


5 Times Spider-Man Needed Help

by CivilBores, starsinyourveins



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Comedy, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Homesickness, Hurt Peter, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Really cute, Secret Identity, Self-Indulgent, Shenanigans, basically peter x everyone but platonically, five + 1, hopefully, its a good balance of half and half with the funny fluffy stuff and the angsty painful stuff, kind of?, the fic we all need, the jackpot of all the gen and all the healthy platonic relationhips, this is gonna be really fun hop on for the ride y'all, trust me it is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2018-12-19 15:39:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11900817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CivilBores/pseuds/CivilBores, https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsinyourveins/pseuds/starsinyourveins
Summary: ...and the one time Peter Parker did.





	1. Ned

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written by starsinyourveins and CivilBores!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because the mask covers Spider-Man’s entire face, Ned doesn’t see the moment that he opens his eyes. So Ned jumps about a mile high when Spider-Man suddenly sits up in a whirlwind of flailing limbs, head twisting every which way before his gaze finally settles in Ned’s direction.
> 
>  
> 
> “Oh, N –” Spider-Man stops, looks down at himself, and finishes loudly, “No! Oh, no, is what I mean.”

Sometimes, when Aunt May gets really mad, after Peter has broken his curfew for the umpteenth time with nothing but the flimsy excuse that he wasn’t paying attention, she calls Peter  _ the smartest idiot she knows. _ She’s been calling him that a lot recently.

 

Right now, Peter thinks she might be right.

 

The worst part is that the fight wasn’t even that  _ bad.  _ It started with three ski-masked guys standing around an elderly man, who looked like he’d been forcibly pushed into the alley wall by the way he was shaking and eyes darting all over the place. It happened in broad daylight, too – Peter’s never thought about giving into a life of crime, but if he did, he’d like to think he’d do it better than those three. 

 

Peter had approached from above, listening to the three of them threaten the poor old guy until he eventually handed them his bag. They’d dumped everything out, bright orange medicine bottles rolling over the pavement, and Peter had decided that was enough and dropped down from his perch on a nearby roof.

 

The annoying thing was that the squabble hadn’t been brief like he’d expected it. Really, once he’d disarmed them, gun stuck to wall in a flash of white webbing, he’d thought they’d get the hint and try to make a break for it.

 

But no. They were persistent. And  _ quick.  _ Now Peter’s sporting two good-sized bruises from a lucky knee to the ribs, but really, that’s  _ it _ . Despite how long the fight dragged on, Peter apprehended them pretty easily. The three men are probably squished into the back of a cop car right now, rethinking their life choices to harass elderly men in back alleys.

 

The only problem is that Peter didn’t eat lunch. He’d been making up a Spanish test that he’d missed the week before because he’d been following what he thought was a drug-smuggling ring that turned out to be a couple of college kids smoking weed in a shady looking apartment. And all he’d had for breakfast was some cereal, too, because he’d gotten in late from patrolling the night before.

 

This is where the idiot part comes in. He’d just been showing off for the old guy, okay, because he had his phone out and even though the old man probably didn’t even know what Youtube  _ was,  _ Peter will do a couple of fancy flips for a camera. People like that. The guy had just been mugged, Peter was trying to cheer him up.

 

In the middle of his third backflip, Peter’s stomach began to growl, and then his vision went black.

 

Thankfully his vision flickered back in long enough that he managed to land mostly on his feet, but that was enough. Peter grabbed the guy’s bag off the ground, shoved it at him with a hasty  _ stay safe, citizen,  _ and rushed off, because Peter learned the hard way in the first few weeks after the spider bite that super metabolism has crazy consequences if you don’t listen to your stomach.

 

Apparently Peter didn’t learn that lesson well enough, because he passes out in a trash heap two blocks away from his apartment.

 

\---

 

Ned is thinking about calculus homework and whether Peter will bring over Metroid 1 or 2 for video game night when he stumbles upon Spider-Man, dead, in a pile of garbage.

 

“Holy shit,” Ned  shouts , which he thinks is the appropriate response to finding an unmoving superhero in the street. Before Ned can panic any more, thankfully, Spider-Man groans and shifts, the garbage bags squeaking underneath him.

 

He’s not dead. Thank God, Ned isn’t sure what he would’ve done if he was. It probably would’ve involved a lot of crying, and talking to the police, and it’s a  _ school night.  _ He’s got homework he has to finish. Being a witness to a murder really would’ve sucked, for all the obvious reasons and more.

 

Up this close, Spider-Man’s costume looks way less cool than it does in the YouTube videos. It kind of looks like blue sweatpants and a hoodie. Ned guesses low-brow heroes like Spider-man don’t get payed much -- or at all, really. That might actually make him cooler, for doing what he does without the benefits that people like the Avengers get. Like Robin Hood, or something.

 

Ned crouches down hesitantly next to the garbage and Spider-Man, who is still groaning and clutching at his stomach. Ned gives him a quick once over, almost expecting to see blood seeping into the fabric, but finds nothing. His heart beats loud in his ears.  Ned's not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing that there are no visible injuries. He thinks about all the possibilities of wounds that could be hidden beneath the skin -- broken bones and concussions and fractures and internal bruising and bleeding -- and decides that this isn't a huge improvement from finding Spider-Man mauled and lying in a puddle of his own blood.

 

“Uh,” Ned starts, “Spider-Man? Sir? Are you hurt? Should I call somebody?”

 

Ned doesn’t say the word hospital, because heroes in movies and comics never want to go to hospitals. Plus, Spider-Man has that whole secret-identity thing going on. Ned’s not going to ruin that for him.

 

Because the mask covers Spider-Man’s entire face, Ned doesn’t see the moment that he opens his eyes. So Ned jumps about a mile high when Spider-Man suddenly sits up in a whirlwind of flailing limbs, head twisting every which way before his gaze finally settles in Ned’s direction.

.

“Oh, N –” Spider-Man stops, looks down at himself, and finishes loudly, “No! Oh, no, is what I mean.”

 

While Ned stares at him, Spider-Man reaches up to smooth back his mask, like he would be anxiously pushing fingers through his hair if he could. There’s something vaguely familiar about the gesture.

 

Before Ned can think too hard about it, though, Spider-Man starts to get up, bits of trash falling off him, and then immediately collapses back into the trash heap. His groan is muffled by what looks like a pizza box that slid over his head.

 

“Are you okay?” Ned asks, nervously. “Should I get help? I have a friend who lives really close to here, I could call – “

 

“No!” Spider-Man squeaks, stumbling over his next words, and then suddenly pitches his voice a lot lower, like he’s trying to do a Batman impression and failing. “No, concerned citizen, there’s no need. I’m uninjured. I’m just – “

 

Suddenly, there’s a loud noise, a sound somewhere between a car’s engine and the sounds from the video on animal reproductive behaviors they watched in Biology today. Ned looks down to where Spider-Man is still clutching his stomach.

 

“ – Hungry,” Spider-Man finishes, distressingly. 

 

“Uh,” Ned says. “Like I said, my friend lives near here, and he has, like, a refrigerator– “

 

Spider-Man makes a sound of protest, and then rapidly shakes his head. “No, no, I appreciate it, but I wouldn’t want to intrude on your friend’s, uh, time.”

 

“I’m pretty sure meeting Spider-Man would make his day, but okay,” Ned says. Spider-Man laughs at that, maybe a little too nervously. Spider-Man seems like a cool guy, but maybe kind of socially awkward. Which is fine, because Ned is too, and it’s not like you have to do a lot of talking when you’re punching bad guys in the face.

 

“Well,” Ned says. “If you don’t mind the walk, I have some leftover cheesecake my mom made at home.”

 

“ _ Cheesecake _ ,” Spider-Man whispers, longingly. His stomach makes that sound again, except louder and more desperately. 

 

Ned laughs. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

Spider-Man jumps to his feet, suddenly energized at the thought of immediate access to food. He starts walking down the street towards Ned’s apartment, toilet paper stuck to the bottom of his foot, bits of what is probably a sandwich crumbling off his shoulder.

 

“Where are you going?” Ned calls, and Spider-Man freezes.

 

“Uh. Um, well,” Spider-Man fumbles, jabbing his thumb in the direction he was walking, “Uh.”

 

“You’re right, though, my apartment is this way,” Ned says, falling into step beside him and brushing the sandwich bits off his shoulder. 

 

“Yeah, well, I have, uh, spider-senses, you know?” Spider-Man explains, hands gesturing all over the place. He does that nervous thing with his mask again, smoothing back hair that isn’t there.  “It helps with stuff like this.”

 

“Is that how that works?” Ned asks, awed. His eyes go big and round. “That’s so  _ cool. _ ”

 

“Sure. I mean, yes. Yeah. It’s cool.”

 

Ned’s not sure what senses spiders have that make it easier to find strangers’ apartments, but whatever. He’s not going to grill the guy when he’s already swaying on his feet, making betrayed noises at cars honking and bright streetlights. Spider-Man lets Ned lead the rest of the way, and even laughs at some of his jokes.

 

It’s a good afternoon.  
  


\---

 

Peter can smell Ned’s mom’s cheesecake the second he steps in the doorway. It smells  _ amazing. _

 

“Guh,” Peter says eloquently. 

 

Ned laughs, and takes him to the kitchen, showing him around like Peter hasn’t been here a million times, like he wasn’t here two days ago to study for that Spanish quiz and play Final Fantasy. 

 

Peter’s stomach grumbles just as Ned is showing him where the bathroom is. Ned laughs, and says, “Okay, okay. Let’s get you some food, dude. That sound is starting to scare me.” 

 

Ned sets down a plate of something and Peter’s brain just about blacks out. When he comes to, his mask is pulled up to his nose, and he’s eaten three slices of cake, four granola bars, half a jar of peanut butter, a tub of microwaved pasta, and what looks like the remains of some cold pizza. Hurriedly, Peter pulls the mask back down, because he’s an idiot, maybe, but not  _ that  _ much of an idiot. 

 

Ned is standing at the counter, holding two roast beef sandwiches out like an offering. Peter takes them both. Ned looks vaguely impressed.

 

“Dude,” he says. “If the whole superheroing thing doesn’t work out, have you considered, like, hot-dog eating competitions?”  

 

“Don’t mock me, man. I have to eat this much, I’m a growing teenage boy,” Peter quips on instinct, like he does to May and Ned all the time to throw them off his super-power trail. Immediately, he freezes, and hopes vainly that Ned won’t notice, that he’ll be too distracted making the third sandwich to be listening –

 

“What?” Suddenly Ned’s face is right in front of Peter’s. “You’re a  _ teenager? I’m _ a teenager! You’re  _ my _ age?”

 

Alright, maybe Peter is that much of an idiot.

 

“Oh, shit,” Peter says, at least remembering to pitch his voice lower. “No, I’m not. I’m  _ not _ . It was a joke!”

 

Ned’s eyes are huge and shiny and his mouth is open. He looks more excited than that time Peter got him a Comic Con ticket for his birthday. This is so not good.

 

“Ha, ha?” Peter tries.

 

“That is so unbelievably  _ awesome _ . Peter is going to freak out when I tell him, oh my God.” Ned stops long enough in his excited rambling to explain, “Peter’s my best friend. He thinks you’re cool.” 

 

Peter shoves a bite of sandwich into his mouth to keep from saying anything incriminating to that. He eats quickly, relying on Ned’s tendency to get carried away when he’s excited to not look too closely at Peter’s profile. When he finishes the third sandwich in record time, he yanks down the mask again over his mouth and chin. 

 

When Peter looks up from his plate, Ned is still rambling. “ -- go to school? How do you have  _ time  _ for that? I mean, I barely have time for all my homework, and I just do normal people stuff, like, Coding Club, and -- ”

“Hey,” Peter blurts, interrupting Ned’s monologue. Ned looks like he’s in the middle of making Peter a fourth sandwich, which is probably unnecessary, but Peter will still eat it. Hollow leg, and all that. Plus, it looks like he’s using turkey this time.

“I should get out of your hair, dude,” Peter says, when Ned hands him the last sandwich.

What he means is,  _ I should leave before you figure out I’m your best friend who’s supposed to come over for video game night in about twenty minutes,  _ but, well.  

“What, no!” Ned says, and then seems to pause. “I mean, I know you’re probably real busy with all the bad-guy punching, but could you at least stick around until my friend gets here? Otherwise, I don’t think he’ll believe I actually met you. Or, actually, hey!” he says, face lighting up with an idea. “We could take a selfie. For evidence.”

“No pictures,” Peter says quickly.

Ned nods quickly, a disappointed look crossing his face. He makes that expression where he scrunches his nose a little and sort of pouts. Peter is weak to that look, but he stays strong. He has to get out of here before Ned figures out what’s going on. Or worse –

There’s the sound of keys in a lock, a door swinging open, and then a familiar warm voice, “Ned, sweetie, I’m home!”

“Hey, mom!” Ned calls back.

Or worse, Ned’s mom comes home.  

Peter does what any rational person would do: he flings himself to the ceiling.

 

\---

 

Ned is starting to have doubts about Spider-Man’s sanity.  

At least Ned knows now that Spider-Man’s powers in those Youtube videos definitely aren’t photoshopped or edited. There’s a real, live, apparently-teenage-boy attached to the ceiling of Ned’s kitchen right now, clinging to the plaster by his fingertips.

“Holy shit,” Ned says, for the second time that day. He must say it too loudly, because Spider-Man shushes him frantically and he hears his mom shout “ _ Language!”  _ from the entrance to their apartment. 

“What are you doing up there?” Ned hisses at Spider-Man. 

“I can’t let your mom see me!” he whispers back. “Talking to you was bad enough!”

Ned frowns, trying not to be offended. “Jeez, that’s not the way to talk to the guy who made you four sandwiches,” he mutters, a little stung, looking down timidly at the floor. Maybe Spider-Man is crazy  _ and  _ an asshole. This kind of sucks. Is this where Ned is supposed to have a realization about heroes and pedestals?

“No, I mean,” Spider-Man glances around nervously, hearing Ned’s mom’s footsteps approaching down the hallway. His babble gets increasingly agitated. “It was really nice of you, to give me food, and to talk to you, and everything, and thank you for that, but it’s a really really bad idea for me to meet people like this. I wear this suit for a reason.”

That – well, that kind of makes sense. It still feels like a  _ it’s not you, it’s me  _ kind of thing, but it makes sense. Ned nods, glancing at the door.

“Sweetheart?” He hears his mom call out. Her voice is right outside the door, now. He swallows.

“What do you want me to do?” Ned whispers.

“Just distract her until I can get out of here,” Spider-Man says, almost pleadingly. He actually sounds kind of scared. Ned’s chest clenches at the note of panic in his voice. “Please.”

And, well, it’s hard to say no when a spandex-clad superhero is begging  _ please  _ from your ceiling _.  _ So Ned says, “Alright, here goes nothing.”

He picks up the glass bowl sitting next to the cutting board, and drops it on the floor.

 

\---

 

Peter watches the bowl shatter to a million pieces in shock. He didn’t know Ned had it i n him. 

 

Guilt swoops in right after. He didn’t mean to make Ned  _ break  _ something -- Peter happens to know that his mom got that bowl as a Christmas gift from his aunt Chelsea upstate. Ned’s mom  _ likes  _ that bowl.  

 

Before Peter can think about it, though, Ned’s mom is rushing into the room. She’s wearing her work outfit, a black pencil skirt and a white blouse with a coffee stain scrubbed mostly out of the collar. Her black hair is tied up into a fraying bun. Peter freezes, not wanting his movements to make her look up, but thankfully she seems completely distracted by the glass covering the floor.  

 

“Edward Leeds! What is wrong with you?” Ned’s mom exclaims, and Peter winces. This doesn’t bode well for Ned. Ned seems to realize the same thing, because he holds stock still like a deer in the headlights. 

 

“I, uh… dropped it?” Ned tries, and it’s such an obvious lie that Peter wants to smack himself. Ned’s mom doesn’t seem to notice, immediately ordering Ned to grab a broom and making him promise to send Chelsea a nice and extremely apologetic note. There’s a lot of other shouting in the midst of that, but Peter tries to block it out as he glances around the room for exits. 

 

Across from the kitchen counter is a window, one with a bunch of potted plants where Ned’s mom grows herbs and pansies. Dull orange light from the setting sun is filtering through the glass. Peter starts to creep towards the window, slow and careful. 

 

“Maybe you should show me where the broom is,” Ned says quickly, interrupting his mom’s tirade. “I’ve totally forgotten. Definitely. Is it in the living room? We should go there and check.” 

 

Ned ushers his very confused and still fuming mother out of the kitchen and into the living room. Before he ducks out the door, he offers Peter an extremely exaggerated wink and a thumbs up. Peter shoots him a thumbs up back as the door closes, just to see Ned’s wide grin. The door slams shut with a thud.   

 

Breathing a sigh of relief, Peter reaches the window, flicks the lock, and climbs out into the open air.  

 

Before he starts scaling the wall, however, he pauses, and looks back towards the window. 

 

\--- 

 

Ned’s mom yells at him for more than thirty minutes. It’s probably fair - he should’ve chosen a different bowl than the one her sister bought her for Christmas, but it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. It’s not like he had a lot of time to think about it. 

 

Plus, it was totally worth it. He just met  _ Spider-Man.  _ And maybe even saved his life with cheesecake and turkey sandwiches. Of course, nobody is going to believe him, but, well. Ned will know, and Spider-Man will live another day to protect New York citizens with humanly-impossible feats that end up on the Internet.  

 

When Ned’s mom is satisfied with the amount of guilt on Ned’s face, she shakes her head at him and gets up to go watch TV in her bedroom, probably to give herself a break from her expensive-glassware-shattering son. Ned gets up and checks the time. Peter should be here any minute -- actually, he should’ve been here about fifteen minutes ago, but Peter hasn’t really been known for his punctuality recently. He’ll be here soon. 

 

Ned wanders into the kitchen to make popcorn and pour out a bowl of pretzels for video game night. As he passes the window to open the pantry, he catches something bright pink out of the corner of his eye. 

 

He turns to find a post-it note stuck to the glass. Confused, Ned pulls it off and reads the hurried, scrawled handwriting. 

 

_ Ned,  _

 

_ Thanks for the food. The cheesecake was really good. You’re my hero!  _

 

_ Spider-Man  _

 

_ P.S. Check your phone. Left something as a thank-you. Maybe your buddy Peter will believe you now. _

 

Excitement rising in him, Ned glances around and finds his phone sitting on the kitchen counter where he left it in his haste to leave the room. He picks it up and opens to his camera roll. 

 

There’s a picture of Spider-Man, hanging upside down from Ned’s ceiling, shooting a peace sign at the camera. His mask is sort of bunched at the edges like he’s smiling underneath it. In the background, blurred pieces of glass lay on the hardwood floor.  

 

Ned grins at it. While he stares stupidly at his phone, the doorbell rings, startling Ned out of his thoughts. It must be Peter. Ned hastily shoves his phone and the sticky-note into his pocket, trying and failing to suppress his smile. 

 

“Coming!” he calls, rushing to the door. 

  
  


\--- 

  
  


When the door to Ned’s apartment flings open, Ned looks elated. He’s grinning widely. His eyes are bright. His gaze meet Peter’s face, and then he frowns, looking Peter up and down. 

 

“Did you run here?” Ned asks, confused. He gestures to Peter’s crumpled clothes, his backpack hanging off his shoulder, his heaving chest. Peter did run here, in fact, from about six blocks away, where he left his backpack and school clothes, but he keeps that thought to himself. 

 

“Nah,” Peter says, holding up Metriod 2. “Just really excited about video game night, dude.” 

 

“Me too,” Ned says, his grin coming back to his face, full force. “Peter, you’re not going to believe what just happened.” 

 

\--- 

 

(A few months later, Ned sits up straight in bed. It’s 3 AM. 

 

“Holy shit,” he says, because it seems like the appropriate response. “Peter, you asshole.”) 

  
  
  



	2. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the bed, there’s a small, huddled figure in the shadows.
> 
> “Kid?” Tony says carefully. “You alright…?”
> 
> “‘M fine,” Peter says, his voice garbled behind his mask, and he sounds completely and utterly not fine. “Please go away, Mr. Stark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tony and peter are my absolute faves.

Peter hits the ground like a ragdoll, limp and unmoving. Even after he’s crashed, he rolls a few feet and just lies there, completely still.

 

“Shit,” Tony hisses, instantly turning his back on the fight. Everything else melts away- behind him, the Tiny-to-Big dude falls to the ground in what seems like slow motion, but Tony doesn’t even give him a second glance. He flies straight for Peter’s limp form and his feet hit the ground hard and ungracefully- he stumbles forward until he skids to a stop by Peter’s side. 

 

Peter’s back is facing him. He’s so still he almost looks… 

 

Tony presses his lips together tightly, urging the thought away from his mind. No, he can’t be dead. Just the thought of it makes Tony sick. Tony falls to his knees, unsure what to do- how are you supposed to help an injured super-kid..?- so he reaches out tentatively for Peter’s still shoulder. 

 

“Hey,” Tony says cautiously, almost nervously. “Hey, kid, are you alright-”

 

Peter instantly jerks back as if Tony’s touch is fire. Eyes wide, Peter struggles against Tony’s grip, thrashing wildly and mumbling incoherent phrases. Tony tightens his grip around Peter’s wrists, which he decides ultimately is not that great of an idea, but Tony has little choice with Peter lurching like someone possessed.

 

“Kid, hey, it’s just me! Same side! See?” Tony says quickly, almost desperately. Underneath him, Peter spits out a tangle of words that sounds a lot like  _ get off me _ , and for the first time Tony starts to regret having brought the kid out here.

 

Tony’s faceplate flips up, and the effect is instantaneous. Relief floods over Peter’s features. The kid smiles weakly and relaxes, letting his back fall to the ground again. “Oh, hey, man,” he says, his voice breathy and tired.

 

“You’re going home, okay?” Tony says.

 

“What- no!” Peter says, sitting up. At least, he tries to sit up. Tony instantly forces him back down with a metal gauntlet. Peter stammers out words of protest, limbs flailing futilely under the heavy Iron Man suit, but the kid’s just persistent enough to be annoying.

 

“You’re going home, or I’ll call Aunt May!” Tony threatens.

 

At the mention of his aunt’s name, Peter stiffens visibly and stops struggling Tony takes it as a grudging agreement, and he lets go of Peter’s thin wrists and flies off.

  
  


-

  
  


Peter does not go home. 

 

Not immediately, at least. Tony doesn’t even think of it- it doesn’t seem like a very urgent matter to get Peter flied home as soon as possible. Peter’s easy, low maintenance- all Tony really has to do is just get Peter on the plane, ship him off with Happy to drive him the rest of the way to his tiny Queens apartment.

 

Tony has to deal with everything else, first. Like checking up on Rhodey in medical. Finding out what the hell is King T’Challa’s deal, and he’s rich, right? He can help pay for the damage to the airport, right?

 

The airport. 

 

There’s a  _ lot _ of damage to the airport. That’s a whole other headache to deal with.

 

And above everything else, images of Steve and Bucky keep bubbling to the surface of Tony’s mind. More accurately, Steve standing over Tony with his shield raised, bringing it down over and over and  _ over again- _

 

“Mr. Stark?”

 

Tony is jarred out of his thoughts. He looks down at his hand- he’s nervously clicking a ballpoint pen. In his other hand, he’s gripping the damage control forms so tightly that the paper is threatening to crumple in his fingers.

 

He straightens and takes a breath, then turns towards the doorway. Peter is standing in the hallway, wearing his suit and his mask, white eyes peering through the dark.

 

“What’s up, Spider-Kid?” Tony says, trying not to make his voice sound strained. He puts the pen down.

 

“Um,” Peter says. His voice is muffled by the cloth around his face. “I was just- just wondering, uh, when do I get to go home…?”

 

Right. Peter’s been here a couple days now. Maybe a week…? Two weeks? How long has it  _ been _ since Cap beat the shit out of Tony? He doesn’t really like to think about it, so he’s not keeping count.

 

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you home, alright?” Tony says. “Just not today. I’m busy, Happy’s busy, we’re all kind of  _ busy  _ here, you know?”

 

“Oh,” Peter says. “Okay. Do you- can I help you with anything, then?”

 

“No,” Tony says. He’s surprised by how snappy his own voice sounds to his own ears- it’s probably just the exhaustion of the day catching up to him. 

 

But he doesn’t need help with anything. He’s perfectly fine on his own. He has people to do that for him, people that work for him, around here - somewhere. 

 

Tony looks down at his hand and realizes he’s picked his pen back up again, and he’s clicking it anxiously. He forces himself to stop and he lets it drop back to the desk, his palm open.

 

Tony looks up. Peter is still standing almost timidly by the doorway.

 

“You need something?” Tony asks.

 

Peter shakes his head quickly. “Oh, no, I don’t-”

 

“Alright, then, run along, Spiderling. I don’t have time to play checkers right now. Why don’t you get some sleep?”

 

“Okay,” Peter says slowly. He turns and disappears into the hallway, casting a last glance over his shoulder. 

 

Tony doesn’t even give it a second thought.

  
  


-

  
  


Tony’s thoughts pass by in a flurry of paperwork and government mail and emails from people he doesn’t even know. He goes through all of them as quickly as possible.

 

Days pass and he’s not even close to done.

 

Everybody wants his voice on what’s going on. The public wants him to speak out about the Accords, about what happened, and what does this mean for the Avengers? And who is the Black Panther? Where is Captain America? Where is  _ Tony _ , what’s he doing?

 

It’s mostly mindless work, but there sure is a shit ton of it. It helps Tony focus, though, helps him have something to think about other than….

 

Clint and Sam and Scott, locked up in a distant prison in the middle of the ocean. Wanda, in a shock collar and a straightjacket. 

 

Steve and Bucky, backs faced towards Tony, walking away and leaving him cut open and bleeding out on the ground.

 

Tony shakes his head slightly, grimacing. No. It’s over now. He can stop thinking about it now.

 

In his hand, his pen is shaking. He clicks it once and takes a deep breath. 

 

_ Do not think about it.  _

 

He can still feel the ghost of pain around his face where Steve’s shield came down hard on his faceplate, raining blows down relentlessly, one after the other. 

 

He can still feel the  _ fear  _ when his faceplate came off, and Steve’s shield hovered inches from his bare face, ready to smash his head in.

 

It’s over now, and he’s still a stresscase. He’s worse than a stresscase, really. He’s a radioactive bomb, ready to explode at any second- each time he lets his mind wander to what happened, he’s threatening to burst in on himself in a flash of bright lights and then he’ll just be gone.

 

“Mr. Stark?” 

 

Tony turns around. 

 

Speaking of radioactivity.

 

It’s Spider-Man, again. It’s always Spider-Man- who else would call him “Mr. Stark”? He’s still dressed in his full suit, head to toe, for some reason, and standing timidly by the doorway, a streak of red and blue.

 

“What?” Tony snaps. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

 

“I-” Peter falters both audibly and visibly, and Tony feels just a little bad about lashing out at the kid- but his actions are still justified, right? It’s not his fault that the kid’s being a pest. 

 

“Sorry, Mr. Stark, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I was just- just wondering when I could go home-”

 

“You’ll go home when I actually have the time to book a plane, okay?” Tony says. “I told you I have all this paperwork, still. Why don’t you go run off and play video games with Happy or something?”

 

Spider-Man turns and half-walks, half-runs back down the hallway, disappearing into the shadows. Tony watches him go. 

 

He sighs, long and heavy. Peter’s a good kid, he just doesn’t have time for him. Not now, with everything else that’s happening.

  
  


-

  
  


_ Steve’s shield slams into the metal of Tony’s faceplate. It clashes against the surface and makes a horrible, ringing screech. _

 

_ Even though Tony has a thick layer of metal to protect his skin, pain still courses through his entire skull and rattles his teeth. His head slams against the ground with each strike. He can’t stop thinking about how sharp the shield is, about how deadly it is, how he’s seen Cap break bones and crush cars like soda cans with it- _

 

_ The faceplate gives way. It clatters away to the floor and Steve’s shield comes down, closer, and closer- Tony lifts his hands in a last, desperate attempt at self-defense, and a low, guttural, terrified sound creeps out of Tony’s throat- _

 

_ Steve stops and draws back. He leaves Tony and goes to Bucky. _

 

_ “That’s my father’s shield,” Tony says. “You don’t deserve it.” _

 

_ Steve drops it. It clatters to the floor with a metallic ringing sound that echoes back and forth in Tony’s ears, and it’s covered in Tony’s own blood, Tony can taste the blood in his mouth and it’s coppery and wet and- _

 

Tony sits up with a heavy gasp. He can practically taste the blood in his mouth. His breaths are coming in short, fast gasps. He can’t breathe around all the blood, he can’t-

 

Okay, okay. No. He can. Deep breaths, deep breaths….

 

This definitely isn’t the first time he’s woken up from a nightmare. He knows how to deal with them.

 

Tony forces himself to take deeper breaths. He sits up, draws his knees to his chest, and rests his forehead on his knees. 

 

His breathing finally evens out. He tosses the blankets from his legs and gets up, heading toward the bathroom. His legs are stiff and still aching from the fight but he forces them to move anyway. He used to not be like this- he used to not  feel the effects of a fight this long after it’s happened.

 

The bathroom tile feels good against his bare feet. It’s cold and jarring and brings him back. It grounds him.

 

Tony stares at himself in the mirror for a while. His eyes linger around his sharp features, glowing silver around the edges from the dim lit room. 

 

His eye is bruised, the skin around it still raw and ragged-looking. Tony traces his fingers around the edges of the injury and lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. 

 

There’s something strange and almost delicate about looking at the bruises on his skin. The bruises and scars go further than just the surface, and- and Tony, he’s scarred too, his very being is scarred right down to the core. 

 

He’s gotten used to this, though. This is how he is now. He’s not sure when it happened- whether it was with Ultron, or even before that, with the Chitauri- but all he knows is that it’s a part of him that is not going away anytime soon.

 

Tony slips out of the bathroom and heads back down the hallway towards his room. It’s pitch black and he can’t see a thing. His foot slams into something hard and likely metal and Tony hisses in pain, hopping backwards and stopping outside a door to nurse the injury.

 

As he rubs his foot, he hears a faint, muffled whimpering sound coming from inside the room and stops dead.

 

Peter, Tony thinks in a flash. How did he forget that Peter has been staying here for days- no,  _ weeks _ now? 

 

His foot drops to the floor. Tony steps into the room cautiously, not bothering to turn the lights on. 

 

On the bed, there’s a small, huddled figure in the shadows.

 

Tony approaches the bed, and slowly the shadows come into focus. Peter is curled up on his mattress in a sitting position that’s so scrunched up it looks uncomfortable. The kid’s thin arms are tangled around a pillow, and he’s clutching the blankets tightly around his huddled form.

 

Peter’s still wearing his suit. Head to toe.

 

“Kid?” Tony says carefully. “You alright…?”

 

“‘M fine,” Peter says, his voice garbled behind his mask, and he sounds completely and utterly not fine. “Please go away, Mr. Stark.”

 

“Are you injured?” Tony says. As soon as he suggests the idea, his own heart rate begins to quicken- images of Peter hiding broken ribs and bruised skin behind all those blankets flash before Tony’s eyes, and he can feel the panic creeping in like a thick, dreaded fog. 

 

Peter shakes his head, no, but Tony’s still doubtful. He’s not exactly the most open and sharing fifteen-year-old.

 

“It’s nothing,” Peter says, but his voice breaks at the end of the phrase and gives him away. “Please just leave me alone, I don’t….”

 

“What’s wrong? Hey, Peter. Look at me.”

 

Spider-Man’s head turns slightly. His eye lenses widen and Tony shakes his head. “Mask’s gotta go,” Tony says. “Why are you even wearing the suit, kid?”

 

Peter doesn’t budge. Tony tentatively reaches out- Peter doesn’t flinch at Tony’s touch, so Tony takes that as a sign to keep going. He carefully slides his fingers under the fabric of Peter’s mask and pulls it off, Peter’s curly hair quickly taking its shape.

 

Peter’s face is streaked with tears, his eyes wide and fearful. His breath catches with a small hiccup and he blinks, his long eyelashes fluttering.

 

“Because Spider-Man doesn’t get homesick,” Peter manages to say, his voice hoarse. 

 

And it all hits Tony like a brick wall. God, how could he be so  _ stupid?  _

 

Peter’s been here for days, weeks,  _ against his will _ , missing school. He’s away from his friends, from his Aunt, from his  _ home.  _

 

The Tower is cold and futuristic, desolate and quiet, everything made of metal and more expensive than Peter himself. It provides food and shelter and has a bunch of cool robots- to Tony, it sounds just like home. But Peter’s used to soft, cheap couches, being with his friends, hearing his aunt’s voice from his tiny kitchen. 

 

This may be home to Tony, but it’s nowhere close for Peter. 

 

Tony stares down at Peter’s tear-streaked face, at Peter’s nearly healed black eye, and sees  _ himself _ .

 

Peter’s mask falls out of Tony’s hand and flops against the floor. 

 

“Oh,” Tony manages. 

 

Peter buries his face in the pillow. “You can go back to sleep,” Peter says forcedly. His voice is wavering. “You’re too busy to have to deal with me.”

 

“Too busy?” Tony says, blinking. “I’m not too busy, why would you think that? I-”

 

_ What? Can’t you see I’m busy? _

 

_ I’m busy, Happy’s busy, we’re all kind of busy here, y’know?  _

 

Tony’s head drops down in realization. He mutters a curse under his breath, and when he looks back up, Peter’s staring at him with his huge doe eyes. “God, I fucked up, didn’t I?” Tony asks, more to himself than to the kid. Peter shakes his head, but Tony ignores him. “Yes, I did. God, I’m sorry, Peter, I didn’t know…”

 

“No, I’m sorry for bothering you, I-”

 

“I  _ kidnapped  _ you,” Tony says, his voice a few pitches higher than he’d like it to be. “Oh, god, I kidnapped you, didn’t I…?”

 

“What? No, of course not!” Peter exclaims, eyes wide. “What makes you think…?”

 

“No, no, shut up for a second,” Tony says. “I brought you here, against your will, put you in danger and made you fight on my side like some child soldier-”

 

“I  _ liked _ fighting!” Peter protests. “No, Mr. Stark, I-”

 

“You didn’t want to come  _ at first _ , and that’s what matters!” Tony snaps. “And then you wanted to leave- you’ve been wanting to leave for weeks now, haven’t you?- and I forced you to stay here- god, I kidnapped a fourteen-year-old kid….”

 

“Fifteen,” Peter puts in, almost irritably. “And you didn’t kidnap me, honestly, Mr. Stark. I’m just being stupid right now, please just forget this ever happened and go back to-”

 

“Kid,” Tony says softly. He reaches out a tentative hand and rests it on Peter’s head, gently stroking his hair- it’s soft, and Peter visibly flinches at first but doesn’t pull away. Is it too personal? Too weird? Tony’s not sure, but Peter begins to relax under his touch, so he doesn’t stop. “It’s okay to be homesick, alright? You’re  _ not _ stupid. You’ve done everything right. You deserve to go home.”

 

“Really?” Peter says, like a fucking  _ child _ , and it makes Tony want to ram his head into a wall. He’s so young, and Tony did this to him.

 

“Yes, really,” Tony says. When Peter opens his mouth, his eyes glittering, Tony lifts a hand and cuts in, “Please don’t thank me, kid. I don’t… you shouldn’t  _ thank _ me.”

 

Because Peter’s done so much already, Tony should be the one thanking him. And apologizing, for that matter- he doesn’t deserve Peter’s grace. 

 

He doesn’t thank Peter, though. Not with words, at least.

  
  


-

  
  


Tony gets the plane ready immediately, even though it’s 1AM. Peter already has his bags mostly packed(big surprise there), so it’s only a matter of minutes for him to board the plane. Peter practically hops inside like a rabbit, lugging his suitcase behind him as if it weighs nothing. 

 

Peter takes a seat in the middle of the plane. Tony sits next to him and Peter’s eyes go wide with realization. He says quickly, “Mr. Stark, you don’t have to come…!”

 

“What, you don’t want me here?” Tony asks, slipping his sunglasses on. Peter’s mouth snaps shut and he shakes his head fast. Tony suppresses a smile at him and leans back in the airplane chair. 

 

“I just wanna make sure you get home safe,” Tony says, watching as Happy lumbers into the plane and goes straight for the seats in the back, glancing nervously back at Peter to make sure he doesn’t follow. Happy’s not stupid- Tony thinks about the different ways Peter could’ve possibly harassed Happy on the plane ride here, and it makes him just slightly more unsettled. Tony imagines Peter talking for hours on end, blasting music, playing YouTube videos, giving himself multiple tours of the plane, climbing along the plane walls- and Tony debates whether or not he should move away from Peter, too. 

 

But then he decides he’s done enough to Peter already, and even if Peter turns into a complete gremlin on the plane ride, he’s just gonna have to deal with it.

 

Luckily, Peter doesn’t talk Tony’s ears off on the plane ride, though. He’s falling asleep before the plane even takes off, and by the time they’ve reached the clouds, Peter’s head is lolling in his seat and he’s fast asleep.

 

From outside the plane window, there’s a clear view of the night sky. The stars are so bright that they sift even through the glass and illuminate the edges of Peter’s face so that it looks like the kid’s glowing, and it makes him look even younger. 

 

Tony watches the kid as he sleeps, watching his small frame rise and fall with each breath, and it’s comforting to see him just being a kid for once. 

 

For the first time in weeks, Tony forgets about Steve and Bucky and the future of the Avengers. All he thinks about is Peter, and that he’s here now, finally going home, and that Tony will make sure he doesn’t feel like this ever again. 

 

Tony reaches out and gently pats Peter’s shoulder.

 

“You did good, Spider-Man,” Tony says in a hushed voice. 

  
  


-

  
  


“What is this?”

 

“I was just making a little film diary, for the trip,” Peter explains, looking at Tony over his camera.

 

“I told him he couldn’t show anyone,” Happy says from the driver’s seat.

 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Tony says. “Might as well make an alibi video for your aunt, right?” Peter’s pointing the camera at Tony- Tony takes his sunglasses off and flaps his hand in an exaggerated gesture towards Peter. “Get in the frame,” he orders, and Peter obeys, ducking his head into the camera’s line of vision.

 

“Hey, May,” Tony says. “What’re you wearing? Something skimpy, I hope.”

 

Peter’s jaw drops and his head swivels towards Tony. Tony laughs and watches as a small, tentative smile creeps on Peter’s features too.

 

Tony considers it a victory. He made Peter smile, at least a little.

 

“Just kidding!” Tony chirps, winking at Peter, and Peter’s grin spreads even wider. “We can edit that part out later, right? Okay!”

 

Peter stifles a laugh under his breath. Happy makes a noise that sounds like a “tsk” from the wheel. 

 

“Hey, May,” Tony says again, with a last look at Peter. “Just wanted to let you know what a  _ great job _ your nephew did the other week at the Stark internship retreat.”

 

He means it.

 

Tony glances to the side, and Peter turns his head slightly to look at him. Peter’s eyes are sparkling, his smile wide.

 

Tony returns the smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like to call this chapter “what i wish would’ve happened in civil war/pre-homecoming but almost 99% confirmed did not happen”. but it’s still so heartwarming and ahh, these two are just my favorites!  
> anyway, i hope you guys are liking this fic so far! the last chapter made me so happy, starsinyourveins did such a great job. we’re having a lot of fun writing this fic so we hope all of you are having fun reading it too!   
> please leave a nice comment!!!!! tell us what you think! we love hearing feedback from you guys, it makes us so happy. thanks for reading!! my tumblr is too-many-bees if u wanna hmu thereee and starsinyourveins is just starsinyourveins on tumblr <3 xxxxx civilbores


	3. May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wait, wait!” Peter scoffs, pouting and struggling to escape her grasp. “Wait, why don’t you like him?!”
> 
> “Why do you care so much?”
> 
> “Why don’t you like him?” Peter says again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for missing an update last week, guys!! usually i'm pretty fast at writing, but i just could not get this one right for some reason. luckily we managed to get it done tho, so enjoy and see u down there!!!!

“Wasn’t that so  _ cool? _ ”

 

May blinks. Peter’s face comes into focus before hers, his eyes glittering with excitement. Her eyes flick back to his cracked phone screen, where the white play button indicates that the video’s finally over. How long  _ was  _ it, exactly? She glances at the corner of the screen, where the time reads “7:03”, and did she really just watch seven whole minutes of Spider-Man stopping a bank robbery on Peter’s broken phone?

 

The thumbnail is a picture of Spider-Man with his wrist outstretched, preparing to disarm one of the criminals. May remembers that part. She remembers maybe the first two minutes -- Spider-Man had entered the scene quite ungracefully and then everything was a blur of red and blue spandex leaping from the ceiling to the walls to the floor.

 

And then it went on for seven minutes.

 

She’d basically zoned out for 70% of the video, but when she looks back at Peter’s expectant face, she nods and plasters a fake smile and says, “The coolest.”

 

A grin erupts on Peter’s face. “I know, right?” he exclaims. “And did you notice his new suit?”

 

May looks back to the thumbnail.  _ Now  _ she realizes Spider-Man has a new suit- it’s still the same red and blue, but less flashy and much less tacky-looking- it’s more delicately sewn and looks like it’s been professional tailored, very different from the hoodie and sweatpants he’d been wearing before.

 

“Yeah, I did notice,” May says, and technically she’s not lying. “That’s a very, very big step up from his old one.”

 

“Yeah, but that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Peter says. He shoves his phone back into his pocket and flops down onto the couch beside her. “You know how he’s got Mr. Stark on his side now. That’s probably how he got such a nice upgrade.”

 

“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing,” May says honestly, looking at Peter over the rim of her tea cup. As soon as the words leave her lips, Peter’s jaw drops and he looks aghast, like she’s just insulted Peter himself. 

 

“ _ Why?”  _ he asks, and he sounds so personally offended it’s almost laughable. “You don’t think he looks cooler now?”

 

“Having nicer things doesn’t mean he’s nicer,” May reasons, taking a sip of her tea. Peter’s cheeks puff out in indignation.

 

“Why?” he repeats, in that voice that reminds her of when he was still a little boy, and she stifles a laugh, reaching out and pinching his cheek. 

 

“You’re so cute,” May remarks.

 

“Wait, wait!” Peter scoffs, pouting and struggling to escape her grasp. “Wait, why don’t you like him?!”

 

“Why do you care so much?”

 

“Why don’t you like him?” Peter says again.

 

May can’t hold back her laugh this time. “I just don’t know if this whole Tony Stark alliance he has going on for him is a good thing, is all.”

 

“And why not?”

 

“Because,” May says, “I think maybe being around the Avengers is gonna get to that guy’s head. I just don’t want him to forget about us, about the small everyday crimes- that’s what he’s all about, you know?”

 

Peter’s mouth snaps shut. He blinks once.

 

Then, he says in a very small voice, “He’d never forget about us.”

 

May reaches out and ruffles his hair affectionately, sipping her tea. “Maybe,” she says.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


It’s 9:00 on a Saturday morning when May throws open the cabinets and finds it empty.

 

She runs a hand through her hair, frowning. “Where did we put the coffee grounds, Peter?” she calls out.

 

Peter’s sitting on the couch, cradling his own cup of coffee in his hands. He always wakes up before her. He looks up, blinking. “In the top cabinet on the left?”

 

She tilts her head. “Empty,” she says.

 

Peter looks just as baffled as she is. “Uh, did you check the cabinet on the-”

 

“On the bottom,” May says, as she swings it open and peers inside. “Also empty.”

 

Peter’s hand instantly flies to his mouth and his eyes go wide like a deer caught in headlights- they drift back to the mug in his hands. 

 

“Peter,” May says. “I know you don’t sleep much, but how much coffee have you been drinking exactly-”

 

“Sorry,” he blurts instead of a legitimate answer, like he knows it’s better than anything else he’ll have to say. He holds out his cup towards her, his lips pressed into a thin, guilty line. “Take mine, I didn’t drink it all yet-”

 

“It’s okay,” May says. She takes her purse. “I’ll just go to the store to get some more-”

 

“I’ll go!” Peter volunteers, standing so fast that his mug jerks and the last of the coffee threatens to spill. “I’m the one who drank all the coffee, I can-”

 

“No, it’s fine,” May reassures him, waving her hand dismissively. “I can go. I was gonna run to the grocery store anyway.”

 

“No, I’ll-” Peter tries again.

 

“I already grabbed my purse, Peter,” May says, “so shush. Always just trying to be the hero, aren’t you?”

 

Peter’s eyes go huge for a second, but when he locks eyes with her he visibly relaxes. “Um,” he says eloquently. “I mean-”

 

May laughs. “I’ll be back in half an hour,” she promises. “Be safe, don’t blow up the apartment while I’m gone.”

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


Peter constantly tells May to take the car when she goes out.

 

She doesn’t really get it. Or, she does- but what she doesn’t get is why he’s so  _ persistent  _ about the matter. Almost every time she steps out he’ll toss her the car keys, tell her it’s dangerous to walk, etcetera, etcetera. Sometimes she wants to remind him who the legal guardian is in this scenario. But, thinking it might have something to do with Ben, she rarely fights him on it. If it makes him feel safe, she’ll do anything. 

 

But he’s almost paranoid about it- and maybe that should be a little worrying to May, now that she gives it a second thought- always telling her the car’s safer and faster, you have a car for a reason. “Plus,” Peter said one day when she was preparing to drop by the post office, “There’s a lot of bad stuff that happens in the city, y’know? I mean, you need to be super careful when you go by the alleys. There’s some freaks that hang there, criminals, crooks-”

 

“Relax, sweetie,” May had told him, mostly just to shut him up. “I don’t walk by alleys. I can take care of myself just fine.”

 

This time, though, when May’s rounding the corner of the street she usually takes when she goes to the store, she’s stopped by a long strip of yellow restricting her from going further.

 

May glances down the road. The entire section is blocked off, building to building, and there are a couple construction workers littered across the area.

 

“Seriously?” she mutters to herself, pushing her glasses up. She sighs, takes out her phone, and sends off a quick text to Peter: 

 

**(9:14) The street’s closed off, so I’m gonna have to go a longer way around. Might run a little late**

 

As the message delivers, May hears a distant ping. She blinks and looks up- the noise definitely came from above- but there’s nothing except for a couple of pigeons that flap overhead. 

 

Her phone buzzes in her hand. 

 

**(9:14) okay, that’s fine**

 

May begins to walk back from where she came from. She turns back around the other corner, then back in the other direction.

 

She’s never had to take this route before. It’s a little concerning- Peter’s warnings not to walk are flashing through her mind rapidly- but she keeps going. 

 

The first thing that comes to mind as she starts down the narrow walk of the back street is her own voice saying,  _ I don’t walk by alleys. _

 

May passes an alley.

 

So maybe she was wrong about that first statement. Big deal. She’s still got statement number two,  _ I can take care of myself just fine- _

 

Her bag jerks in her grip. A startled cry escapes her lips and she yanks back with an equal amount of force, but there’s still resistance coming from the other side of the handbag.

 

May looks up.

 

A tall man is standing over her, towering, a black ski mask obscuring his face. His huge, gloved hands are gripping onto her purse tight.

 

“Easy,” he says in a gruff voice. “Hand it over and no one gets hurt. Just hand it over and don’t say nothing.”

 

And she just  _ had  _ to jinx that one, didn’t she?

 

May thinks about her choices fast. She only has a second to decide what to do next.

 

She’s always been a good decision-maker.

 

May tilts her head up to the sky very calmly, and then screeches decidedly at the top of her lungs.

 

Almost instantly, leather is being shoved into her face. The man’s gloved hand has moved from her purse to her face, and it’s over her mouth, clamped tight over her nose and lips and chin- “I told you to shut up!” the man hisses at her, and to be honest, May’s more pissed off about the fact that he’s ruining her lipstick than she is fearful of what he could do to her. Because, big deal, a dude with a ski mask and gloves, what’s the worst he’s gonna do to her?

 

A faint click fills the air.

 

May’s eyes dart to his other hand, which has dropped her purse now. Replacing it is a shining black gun.

 

So she’s just jinxed herself again. Honestly, it’s kind of a talent- she and Peter both are cursed with the infamous Parker Luck. This is definitely a time of said misfortune.

 

“You’re a fucking lunatic,” May shouts at him.

 

Unfortunately for her (big surprise there), this doesn’t seem to sit well with the man, because now he raises the gun, and this is closer to a weapon than May’s ever been in her life before. Sure, she’s definitely seen guns up close- not that she likes to think about  _ that time _ \- but never like this, at point blank range, where almost any shot is fatal. Only now does the panic begin to settle in, creeping into the folds of her heart and blinding her, making every cell in her body scream for help.

 

She doesn’t have time to think about Peter, or who could possibly come rescue her at this point, or any people on the street nearby. The only thought that passes her mind is the idea of certain death, and though she’d thought about it a lot before, it never compared to the dread she’s feeling right now.

 

The shot never comes.

 

A blur of red and blue flashes by May and then suddenly the man’s steely grip on her is torn away almost painfully. 

 

“My god,” May remarks loudly, stumbling back, because it’s the only thing she can think to say at the moment. 

 

Spider-Man is on the floor, sprawled out on top of her attacker- he’s got both the guy’s wrists pinned, and his knee on his chest. Even though it seemed like a fairly easy fight, Spider-Man’s chest is heaving and he glances back at her with huge eye lenses that search her frantically up and down.

 

“Are you okay?” he demands, and his voice is surprisingly shrill. May blinks- he sounds extremely concerned. Is he like this with everyone else, on edge, almost frantic?

 

“I’m fine,” she assures him. Her heart is still pounding out of her chest and her legs feel like they could give out at any second, but she doesn’t mention it to the guy.

 

“Oh, thank god,” he says. His voice cracks a bit in the swell of the phrase, and he lets his head drop for can’t even be a half a second before it jerks back up again towards her. “I mean-” He clears his throat. When he speaks again, his voice is much lower. “I mean, I’m glad you’re alright, ma’am. I try to keep all the citizens in New York safe.”

 

“Uh-huh,” May says faintly. Spider-Man eases his weight off of the criminal and flicks out his wrists. Webbing flies out and falls over the man’s hands and feet, encasing him to the sidewalk.

 

“You’re gonna wait all nice and still for the police to get here, okay?” Spider-Man says to the guy on the floor.

 

“Fuck you,” the man says, and Spider-Man shoots a web at his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

 

“Wow,” May breathes. “That’s just like the videos…!”

 

Spider-Man’s eye lenses close for a second, like he’s blinking, then he looks down at his wrists. “The videos,” he echoes.

 

“Oh, nothing,” May says. “Sorry, my nephew’s just a huge, huge fan of yours. He constantly shows me your videos on YouTube.”

 

“Oh, really?” Spider-Man straightens a bit, his chest puffing out. “Sounds like a cool kid.”

 

“He’s actually kind of a nerd,” May says. 

 

Beside her, Spider-Man chokes, but she doesn’t notice, continuing. “Peter has such a great heart, though. I just love him to bits.”

 

“Oh,” Spider-Man says, much less enthusiastically than before. “Oh, that’s- that’s nice.”

 

“Thank you so much for saving me,” May says. “I mean, I don’t usually walk this way.”

 

“Yeah,” Spider-Man agrees, “maybe you should try a different way of traveling next time. Like, a car, or something. Do you have a car? Those are always handy.”

 

May laughs. “Now you sound like Peter, he’s always telling me the same thing.”

 

“Well!” Spider-Man puts in, a little too loudly. His voice seems nervous, though it’s painstakingly deep for someone his size- he’s only got a few inches on May. He thrusts out a hand, pointing down the street. “Police should be coming soon, so you should probably get home-”

 

“You’re bleeding!” 

 

Spider-Man flinches. “Huh?”

 

May takes his arms as gently as possible and probes her fingers by his elbows. Sure enough, her fingers come away with a thin sheen of red. 

 

“Your elbows are all scraped up,” she clucks. “And your suit’s ruined there too.”

 

“Oh,” he says. “I don’t usually do that tackling kind of thing, I usually just web ‘em up, but I kind of panicked- I mean, he pulled a gun, y’know? Panicking is kind of natural in that situation. Tackling was the first thing that came to mind. I must’ve scraped my elbows on the road or something-”

 

May has to bite back a humorless laugh. It never occurred to her that New York’s beloved hero was this….  _ nervous _ up close. He’s almost awkward, which is strange. And here he is, rambling and sputtering before her.

 

“That’s a new suit, too, isn’t it?” May asks, cutting Spider-Man off mid-sentence.

 

“My suit- oh, right, yeah, you’re right! Damn it, M- I mean, um, Stark…. Stark’s gonna kick my ass for soiling it, he  _ just  _ gave this to me.”

 

“I can fix that!” May pipes up.

 

Spider-Man’s eye lenses grow huge instantly. “Wha-?!”

 

“I’m sort of a master homemaker,” May explains. “I mean, I’m a master at a lot of things. Finding the best Thai restaurants. Kitchen sink repair. Homemaking is definitely one of them.”

 

“Oh,” Spider-Man says, his voice oddly warped.

 

“So I can sew,” May continues. “And that suit definitely could use some patching up.”

 

“No! No, no,” Spider-Man says quickly. “I don’t- I’m fine, I mean, I can just, uh, give it back to M- uh, Stark- and you can go home, because the police are coming, and we can both be on our merry ways!”

 

“You just said Stark will have kick your ass if he sees that you tore your suit up already,” May reasons levelly. Spider-Man still looks unsure, even through the mask, glancing warily back over his shoulder. 

 

“You still need to go grocery shopping,” Spider-Man says flatly.

 

“Wait, what?” May blinks. “How’d you know I was going to the grocery store?”

 

“Oh, I mean-!” Spider-Man stiffens. “Uh-” he gestures awkwardly to his temple- “spider-senses and stuff.”

 

“Please let me fix you up,” May says, ignoring him for his own sake. There’s only so much crazy that a person can take in one day.  “It’s the only way I can repay you. I mean, you saved my  _ life _ .”

 

“I shouldn’t,” Spider-Man says forcefully, more to himself than to May. “I really, really shouldn’t-”

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


Peter’s life is one gigantic joke.

 

He’s not sure what happened- everything’s gone by in a blur today- but now he’s walking into his own apartment dressed in full suit, trailing behind Aunt May, pretending to be seeing his home for the first time. She locks the door behind him and that’s when he realizes this is actually happening, and he’s not just having some weird, twisted nightmare. He definitely prefers the latter.

 

“Peter will be so happy to see you!” May says giddily. “Peter, guess who’s here?”

 

Peter stays glued to the living room floor as May pokes her head into his room. She draws her head back and looks back at him with a frown.

 

“Peter’s not here,” she states flatly. “Ugh, that boy…! He’s always just in and out of the house, never tells me anything….”

 

“He probably thought you were coming back later,” Peter says defensively. He watches as May walks into her own room. “And not with your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

 

“He would have  _ loved  _ to meet you,” May says disdainfully from behind her door. “Oh, I really wish he was here… I wonder where he is, he didn’t even tell me he was going out.”

 

She comes back into the living room holding her plastic orange sewing kit, gesturing for Peter to sit on the couch. “Come here,” she urges. 

 

Peter obeys- he’s never been able to disobey her directly, not really- and he sits down on the familiar couch cushion beside her. May pops the sewing kit open.

 

“So,” May says, “does the suit come off, like, on the sleeves, or…?”

 

“No,” Peter tells her, “not really, I’d have to take off my mask and- um, that’s not happening, sorry, secret identity and stuff.”

 

“Okay,” May says. “That’s totally fine. I’ll just- here, give me your arm, I’ll clean up your elbows and sew it up on you.”

 

Peter obeys once again- big surprise there- and holds his arm out to May. May takes it gently. Her touch is so familiar and it takes every muscle in Peter’s body to resist the urge to lean into her touch, to wrap himself up in her embrace. 

 

“My name’s May, by the way,” she tells him, as if he doesn’t already know- and really, he doesn’t know, because he’s not himself.

 

“Cool,” Peter says awkwardly, his head whipping the other direction to avoid eye contact with her. It’s just as uncomfortable even with his mask on. He’s always been a good liar, but it doesn’t mean he likes doing it- especially not to May.

 

She gently dabs at his scraped elbow with an alcohol swab. He hardly feels the sting. 

 

“So, you’ve never even considered revealing your identity to the public?” May says casually.

 

“Nope,” Peter says instantly. 

 

May blinks, clearly surprised by his flat answer. “Oh,” she says. “I mean, I feel like it’d be easier, wouldn’t it?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I don’t know. Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, Natasha Ro- Roma-” May frowns. “Roma…”

 

“Romanoff,” Peter supplies, and May nods gratefully.

 

“That’s right, her,” she says. “They’re all public with their identities. Almost all the other heroes are, aren’t they?”

 

“I guess so,” Peter agrees. “But they’re different, they’ve got nothing to lose, y’know? That’s like, their job.”

 

Peter instantly snaps his mouth shut- did he really just say that out loud? He’s so stupid sometimes, he’s such an idiot, he-

 

“Being a superhero isn’t your job?” May says, her voice spiking up with interest. 

 

“I have another…. job,” Peter lies. “And, you know. People to protect.”

 

“Who?”

 

“My family,” Peter says. And this time he’s not lying. So maybe he doesn’t have a family, as in a wife-and-kids kind of thing, but he definitely has a family of his own to protect.

 

May nods understandingly. “I kind of get it,” she says. “If I were a superhero, I might keep my identity a secret too. No matter how bad it got, I think I’d do anything to keep Peter out of it.”

 

_ Of course you would,  _ Peter thinks but doesn’t say out loud.  _ That’s the same reason I do it. We’re the same. I learned everything I know from you. _

 

“Peter’s really something else,” May says, as she slips the end of the thread into her mouth to wet it and then sticks it through the eye of her needle. “That’s why I wish you could meet him. He’s a super amazing kid.”

 

“Sounds like one,” Peter forces out.

 

“Uh-huh.” May dips the needle into the thread of his sleeve carefully, and he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even stiffen. She never messes up. Her needle doesn’t even graze his bare skin. “Do you have any kids of your own, Spider-Man?”

 

Peter considers his choices, then decides it’s best to just say “no”.

 

“Oh, well, it’s just about the most incredible thing in the entire world,” May says. “You know, Peter and I aren’t even related by blood.”

 

“Really?” Peter asks, as if he doesn’t know this fact and live by it in every waking moment.

 

“Really,” May confirms. “His parents… they passed a long time ago. Be-” she stops herself. “I raised him ever since then,” she finishes. “But it still feels like he’s my own child. I can’t even remember what my life was like before him. He’s just everything to me.”

 

“Oh,” Peter says, his voice thick. 

 

“So, yes,” May continues, “kids are great.”

 

Peter nods. He swallows and stares at the floor.

 

“Do you have a wife?”

 

Peter splutters. The question is so out of the blue that he can’t help himself when he blurts, “No!”, and then he regrets it because didn’t he say he had a family earlier? God, what is he  _ doing? _

 

“Ah,” May says. “I get you, I get you. I’m sort of a single mother too right now.”

 

Peter nods fast, his cheeks pink, and peels his eyes away. 

 

There’s nothing else to look at. He’s looked at the floor, and the ceiling, the side wall.

 

His eyes fall to the living room table, to where all their picture frames are laid out neatly in little rows across the smooth glass.

 

The one in the front’s always his favorite. Always. It’s of Ben, May, and Peter altogether years back. Peter’s only seven years old, scooped up in May’s arms, wearing his Iron Man mask and holding a hand up to the camera like a gauntlet. Ben’s smiling next to them.

 

“That’s Ben,” May says, her voice much softer than before. Peter jerks his head back to her. Her caramel eyes are fixed on his sleeve, where she’s finishing up the seamless sewing. “He was my husband, Peter’s uncle. He was my entire world, but…”

 

May offers up a tattered smile and her eyes drop back to the suit.

 

“You know,” she says, and Peter does know. “Things change, I guess.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Peter says before he can stop himself, and now words are tumbling out of his mouth because he can’t stop them, because these are things he’s always wanted to say but never knew how because he’s just  _ himself  _ and now he’s not. “I’m sorry, May. You’ve gone through so much. I’m- Peter must be so, so proud of you. He couldn’t have asked for a better aunt.”

 

May blinks. Her eyes are glassy and she locks gazes with Peter for a long moment.

 

“Thank you,” she says honestly. Her voice is hoarse, a bit rough around the edges. “That… that means a lot to me, Spider-Man.”

 

She ties off the knot on his sleeve and holds her hand out. He switches arms so that she can begin work on his other sleeve. 

 

The two sit in silence for a long while. Peter’s hand falls to his lap and he doesn’t look back at the picture frame.

 

May only speaks again when she’s nearly finished with her sewing.

 

“Hey, Spider-Man,” is what she says, “you said you had a family, right?”

 

Peter nods.

 

“And you don’t have a wife,” she continues. “Or kids.”

 

Again, more hesitantly than before, Peter nods.

 

“So then,” May says, “do you have.. parents?”

 

Peter watches as May ties off the thread, and sits back expectantly. She pops the lid of her sewing kit closed, places it on the table, then turns her gaze back to him.

 

“Yes,” Peter says decidedly. “Yes, I do have parents. The best parents in the whole wide world.”

 

He thanks her. He stands up and he doesn’t look back at the picture frame. He doesn’t have to.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


“Peter!” May exclaims. “You’ll never guess who just came by the house today.”

 

Peter blinks. “Um, I don’t know,” he says as he steps inside, closing the door behind him. His bag drops to the floor and he stretches his arms out. “Ned?”

 

“Spider-Man!” May says excitedly. 

 

Peter’s eyes widen. “What?! Seriously? You didn’t call me or anything?”

 

“Well, I would have, but I didn’t have time!” May defends herself. “He was literally on the couch here, Peter, I sewed his suit up for him, you know, the new one?”

 

“The new one!” Peter says giddily. “Wait, what happened to it?”

 

“This man tried to steal my purse and then held me at gunpoint-” May ignores Peter’s dropped jaw and look of shock- “and Spider-Man rescued me, but he ripped his suit in the process-”

 

Peter cuts her off mid-sentence, jabbing an accusatory finger towards her. May looks down at his finger, then back at her nephew.

 

“You were wrong about him,” Peter says. 

 

May blinks. “How so?”

 

“He hasn’t forgotten about us.”

 

Peter grins.

 

May rolls her eyes. “Okay, sure, you’re right,” she admits. “He’s a lot cooler than I’d thought.”

 

“That’s good,” Peter says. “Glad to know he’s not a complete jerk in person.”

 

Peter flops down onto the couch beside her. May stares at his curly head and her gaze drifts down to his chocolate brown eyes, to his playful smile, the curve of his collarbone.

 

May smiles and reaches out, stroking his hair.

 

“You’re so cute,” she tells him, and this time he doesn’t struggle, or try to get away.

 

May pulls him into a hug. Peter’s face burrows into her coat sleeve the way he always does, the way he always has since he was a kid. His fingers curl into her arms and she rests her chin on his head.

 

“I’m lucky to have you as a son,” she says to him, pressing a gentle kiss on his head.

 

“Did Spider-Man make you have a mid-life revelation or something?” Peter mumbles into the cloth of her shirt, but he doesn’t move away. She smiles and pats his hair.

 

“No,” she lies. “Just thinking.”

 

“Well,” Peter says, “I’m lucky to have you as a mom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yooo it's civilbores thanks for reading y'all!! man peter and may give me life and secret identity interactions are just the BEST, yo. next chapter's gonna be super cute, i'm super excited for it. pls leave a comment and let us know what u think so far!!!! thanks for all the nice words on the previous chapters, have a good day y'all see u guys next time <3


	4. Flash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let me walk you home,” Flash says.
> 
> “What,” Peter says, because, what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, sorry for the radio silence! school's been kickin my butt recently, but i hope this chapter lives up to expectations!! bless civilbores for bein so patient with edits. 
> 
> peter really needs to stop waking up in garbage heaps.

Peter isn’t surprised when he wakes up in a dumpster, which really should be sign number one that his life is going downhill.

 

He isn’t surprised, but he doesn’t know exactly why he’s there. The last thing he remembers is pulling his mask over his head, and a vague image of an octopus – or maybe a dude dressed like one. Which either means he had a particularly weird day today, or he hit his head really hard. 

 

Sign number two that his life is a mess: it was probably both.

 

He groans and sits up. And, yeah – he definitely hit his head. There’s that familiar dull ache in the back of his skull. The edges of his vision are sort of spotty, in a concussion-y kind of way, and it takes him a second to get his gaze in focus. When he finally does, sorting past the fog and clearing his head, he finally notices the  _ other  _ body in the dumpster with him.

 

“Shit!” he yelps, and flails his arms wildly until the body grunts loudly and moves next to him.

 

Thank God they’re  _ alive,  _ because Peter could not handle waking up next to a dead body today. He has enough trauma on his plate as it is,  _ thank you very much. _

 

Once the initial panic wears off, Peter starts to climb out of the dumpster, trying to keep his movements slow and quiet. It’s probably time to take his exit stage right. The person – probably male, tufts of short black hair sticking out underneath a stray banana peel, most likely some stray henchman – doesn’t look hurt, anyway, so there’s no need to stick around. No blood or dents in sight. And Peter doesn’t really want to wait around and meet  _ another  _ person who habitually wakes up in dumpsters, because Peter is trying to hang on to the shreds of normalcy in his life that he has left.

 

Peter tenses when the person shifts again, garbage bags squeaking under him. Uh-oh. Uselessly, Peter thinks, _please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up, please don’t –_

 

Because Peter’s life is never easy, the guy’s head jerks up from where it was planted into a Styrofoam smoothie cup, and,  _ Oh. _

 

It’s definitely not a henchman left over from a fight, or a napping homeless guy. It’s Flash.

 

Peter prays to any and every God he can think of that this is some kind of nightmare, and it’s not actually happening to him right now, because really, isn’t his life weird enough as it is –

 

“Spider-Man!” Flash says, eyes getting big and round, and, well. There goes his hopes.

 

“Flash,” Peter says cautiously, and kicks himself immediately. He’s still wearing the suit. Maybe Liz was right when she said he was a bad liar, because he seems to be really terrible at keeping his identity under wraps. And this is the last person in the world that Peter wants to know about his secret. 

 

Thankfully, Flash’s eyes just get wider, and he says, “You remembered my name!”

 

Oh, jeez. That means Peter spent enough time as Spider-Man around Flash yesterday that Flash told him his name. Not a good move, past-Peter.

 

“Yeah, well,” Peter stumbles, and regains his verbal footing, lowering his voice into something Wolverine-esque. “It’s kind of an unusual name. Hard one to forget.”  _ And you’ve been harassing me since middle school, so that helps,  _ he thinks.

 

Flash puffs out his chest, which just looks ridiculous with that banana peel still on his head and his face covered in bits of white Styrofoam. After a moment, he frowns, glances around at the dirty alley around them, the brightening sky, and the dumpster. His eyebrows go up into his hair.

 

“Where are my shades?” he asks.

 

“Of course  _ that’s  _ your first priority,” Peter mutters.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing,” he says. “Listen, citizen – “

 

“Why are we in a dumpster?” Flash interrupts, starting to push at the sea of garbage surrounding him. He winces at the movement, rubbing at his head, and let out a stream of cursing that puts  _ Penis Parker  _ to shame. “Ow, my head  _ hurts.” _

 

“Join the club,” Peter snaps, because he has a concussion and he just woke up in a pile of garbage with the guy who once literally stole his lunch money. He sighs, tugging at the corner of his suit sleeve. “To be honest, I can’t really answer your first question. I was kind of hoping you’d be able to tell me.” 

 

“I guess that Doctor Octopus guy really did a number on us,” Flash says, running a hand through his hair. “Man, that was crazy. So many tentacles, dude, the guy must watch some really weird porn.”

 

When Peter doesn’t say anything, Flash arches an eyebrow at him. “You don’t remember?”

 

“Concussion,” Peter says, pointing at his head. “I’ll be fine in a couple hours, I think, but my memories are all messed up.”

 

“Couple hours,” Flash breathes, eyes getting wide again. “Super-healing is fucking  _ cool _ .”

 

Peter just nods, although he sort of wants to puff up his chest like Flash did earlier. It’s kind of nice listening to your nemesis stroke your ego – or, alter ego, really. Instead, he looks off to the side, and says, “Yeah, it helps. Anyway, I need to get going, so. I can call the police for you and they can take you home – “

 

While Peter is talking, he starts climbing the rest of the way out of the dumpster, only to feel a jolt of sharp, excruciating pain race up his side. He clamps down on the sound in the back of his throat – he’s not going to act like a wimp in front of  _ Flash,  _ secret identity or not – and his hand instinctively goes to his ribs.

 

Spots dance in his vision. He stops moving, taking a shallow breath. When he opens his eyes again, Flash is staring at him with the most concern Peter has ever seen on his face. All the posturing and mouthiness that Peter sees every day at school has melted away into earnest worry.

 

All of a sudden, Flash’s face is very close to Peter’s, which has him blinking.

 

“You okay?” Flash asks quietly. His voice sounds weird when there’s not any mockery in it.  “Doctor Crustacean got you pretty good there yesterday.” He gestures to Peter’s ribs.

 

“Octopi are cephalopods,” Peter says absently. “And they’re just bruised.” He knows what broken ribs feel like, and it’s not this. 

 

Aunt May is going to kill him once she finds out, though. The idea kind of makes his stomach hurt. He thinks about her pacing around the living room in nervous circles, the edges of her mouth pulling into that tight, anxious frown that he hates so much on her. She’s slowly been coming around to the whole superhero thing, but this isn’t exactly going to help. She’s been extra protective of him since she found out about the fight with Liz’s dad. 

 

Out of nowhere, Flash grins slyly at him and says, “Smart  _ and  _ a superhero. You’ve really got the whole package.” 

 

And Peter’s concussion must be worse than he thought, because he swears Flash  _ winks  _ at him.

 

“Uh,” Peter says.

 

Before Peter can say manage to articulate anything else, Flash’s face disappears from his vision. Peter sits up, and watches him go through the pockets of his hoodie, his expression morphing into triumph when he sits up with his expensive-looking smart phone clutched in one hand.

 

“Here, watch this,” Flash says, shoving the phone at him, “It might help you remember.”

 

Peter looks down at the phone screen, which is playing some shaky footage of the fight from the night before. Peter notes the current time and date – which is 4:43 AM, Sunday morning – before his attention is caught by a crash in the video in front of him.

 

_ A man with silver, metallic arms – tentacles, maybe? – is slowly approaching the screen from down an empty street. There are crushed cars laying in mangled piles tossed off to the side, and the street is dark except for neon lights from a nearby store. Doctor Octopus has four arms raised, like a scorpion’s tail waiting to strike. _

 

_ Flash’s heavy breathing can be heard in the audio. He’s whispering, “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” over and over again, the video getting shakier with each step that Doc Ock takes. People are screaming in the background. Doc Ock, an older man with a terrible haircut and dark glasses, is shouting something as he comes down the street, but his voice can’t be heard over the other noise. _

 

_ All at once, one of his arms snake out and grab a nearby man attempting to climb out of his car to get away. His screams echo down the street. _

 

_ Out of nowhere, Flash yells, “Oh, hell yeah!” The camera shifts rapidly, and then Spider-Man can be seen swinging overhead, his webs a flash of white in the dark. He shouts something – most likely a one-liner that Peter doesn’t remember – pulling the man out of Doctor Octopus’s grasp, with a twist of his wrist and a tug of webbing. _

 

_ Doctor Octopus grunts and presses a button on the contraption on his chest, and suddenly something bright shoots out from behind him. A smoldering white light starts to come towards the camera, and Flash says – “Oh, fuck – “ _

 

_ There’s a jerk, and then the camera loses focus. In the next moment, the city street comes into view, soaring from down below, and Flash is screaming wildly. _

 

_ “Holy shit! Spider-Man!” Flash yells. His hand is blocking half the screen, most likely clutched in hand, video forgotten as Spider-Man swings him away from whatever explosion Doc Ock had set off in his direction. _

 

_ “What the hell were you doing? You run  _ away _ from the crazy supervillain, not stand around Snapchatting it!” _

 

That’s Peter’s real voice. He must’ve forgot to lower it in the heat of the moment. Peter hastily turns off the video, worried that Flash might notice the voice change now that there’s no supervillain around to distract him.

 

“I think I get the idea,” Peter says quickly. 

 

“You kicked his ass,” Flash says, hands gesturing around wildly in excitement. “It was crazy. I mean, you kind of saved my life.” 

 

In that moment, Flash’s voice sounds so earnest, Peter is kind of embarrassed. He rubs at the back of his neck.

 

“So we’re even, for the car thing?” Peter asks, tentative.

 

Flash’s eyes get wide, again. “You remember that?”

 

Peter laughs. He keeps forgetting that Flash thinks he’s talking to some famous Internet sensation. He says, “Yeah, dude. I kind of wrecked your dad’s car. I felt pretty bad about it.”

 

It’s not a lie. He hadn’t felt all that bad at first, but when Flash had to start missing Decathlon meetings because his dad had grounded him, the guilt had settled in. Plus, it must’ve been expensive. Flash’s family is well-off, yeah, but Peter doesn’t like to think about how much it must’ve cost to replace, even in the name of city-saving.

 

Flash still kind of has that awed look on his face, but he coughs and collects himself, brushing it off. “Not a big deal. He bought me a better one for Christmas, anyway.”

 

Peter rolls his eyes, because Flash can’t see it under the suit. Awkwardly, he says, “Well, that’s good.”

He pauses, looking down at their surroundings and wrinkling his nose. “Ah, man. We’ve been sitting in this dumpster way too long. It’s gonna take weeks to wash out the smell.” Peter knows from experience. 

 

“Ugh,” Flash whines, frantically climbing out of the dumpster. Peter follows, moving slowly this time, careful of his ribs. It’s still difficult, but he gets over the side, landing on the ground in a way that doesn’t rattle his brain and ribcage too much.  

 

Flash watches him from off to the side. While Peter blinks away stars, standing up, Flash blurts, “You look like shit.”

 

“Thanks,” Peter replies sarcastically, rolling his eyes again. It hurts his head, but it’s worth it. He brushes an apple core off his leg. “We can’t all be models after getting beat up by a giant octopus.”

 

“No, I mean,” Flash fumbles before he straightens up, setting his shoulders confidently like Peter has seen him do before stepping onto the Decathlon stage countless times. He reaches up like he’s going to push up his shades, and then runs his hand through his already mussed hair when he doesn’t find them on his head.

 

“Let me walk you home,” Flash says.

 

“What,” Peter says, because,  _ what. _

 

“You shouldn’t put too much strain on your ribs,” he barrels on. “And, you’re vulnerable right now, with your injury. Let me walk you. I know I didn’t show it last night, but I can hold my own, you know.”

 

He puts up his fists like a TV boxer. Peter stares at them.

 

“Uh-huh,” Peter says weakly.

 

“And, you’re still in your suit, and those tights are a hazard,” Flash says, staring at Peter’s legs. And then he  _ blushes.  _ He stutters, “I mean, they’re recognizable. The suit. It’s a target on your back.”

 

Peter is certain, now, that his concussion is worse than he thought, because Flash is being weirdly  _ nice _ to him. Is this what he’s like to people who aren’t Peter? Or did Flash get hit on the head yesterday, too?

 

Flash still has that cocky set to his shoulders that means he’s going to keep rambling and prodding and insulting until he gets his way, so Peter just sighs. He does still feel bad for wrecking Flash’s car. Clearly Flash admires Spider-Man, which is  _ weird  _ to Peter, but maybe this is how he can make up for it. Besides, on weekends, May doesn’t wake up until almost nine. Peter has time.

 

“Okay,” Peter agrees reluctantly. Flash’s self-assured grin expectedly gets wider. “Sure. Let’s go.”

 

\---

 

Peter isn’t dumb enough to let Flash  _ actually  _ walk him home. He guides Flash in the opposite direction of his apartment, taking random side streets that Peter has memorized from his long hours spent patrolling New York. He tries to take a route that runs closer to Flash’s house, so that it’s not too long of a bus ride back, because his parents must be worried about him.

 

He knows he’ll have to swing home later. It’ll hurt swinging with bruised ribs, but he can handle it. He’s swung home with broken ribs before and made it most of the way there before passing out. He’s sure he can make it home with just bruised ones.

 

It’s a little weird, walking with Flash, because when he’s not being a complete asshole, he’s actually kind of… friendly. He slings an arm around Peter’s shoulders and helps him walk with his injured side, taking a surprisingly slow and considerate pace down the street.

 

They get some odd glances – Flash was right about the suit sticking out like a sore thumb – but otherwise, no one really bothers them. It’s barely five in the morning on a Sunday, and the only other people on the street are haggard-looking businessmen and women who hardly spare them a look before bustling down the street, hands wrapped around red-eye coffees. 

 

Flash babbles at him about cars and Decathlon and clothing brands and Peter listens, mostly, half-expecting the conversation to take a turn and for Flash to try to trip him and laugh in his face, but it doesn’t happen. Flash even laughs at his jokes. It’s like they’ve entered another dimension, one where Flash thinks Peter Parker is funny.

 

Flash would probably be pissed if he found out that Spider-Man was actually Penis Parker from the Decathlon team, but, well.

 

Somehow the conversation moves back towards members of the Decathlon team, and then Flash is saying, “Yeah, I got bumped up from alternate because the team President moved to Oregon. Her dad was….” Flash trails off. “Small world, huh. Her dad was Toomes, the guy you took down. Or, uh, Vulture, I guess they’re calling him now.”

 

Flash grimaces. He’s right – the name has been showing up in all the headlines. It’s pretty tacky. 

 

Peter winces. He really, really doesn’t want to talk about this – not with anyone, and especially not with Flash – but he can’t just brush it off. He wants somebody to know that he didn’t mean to ruin Liz’s life, even if it doesn’t really matter what he meant, only that it happened. Only that it’s his fault.

 

Peter says, “I knew he had a daughter. I didn’t mean for it to get so…” he doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, so he shakes his head. Looks up at the sky. “It isn’t right that she was affected too. But I couldn’t just let it happen.”

 

Flash glances at him, and shakes his head, rolling his eyes. The callousness of the gesture makes Peter flinch.

 

“Dude, what?” Flash frowns. “That wasn’t you. You were just… doing your job. It’s her dad that messed up and got himself put in jail, not you.” 

 

Peter shrugs. Somehow, it still feels like he’s the one who put him there.

 

“Besides, you saved her life once, in that elevator,” Flash continues. After a pause, he says, “And mine, too. Twice now.” 

 

Peter glances at Flash, who’s face is turned away and oddly serious. He’s picking at a loose thread at the sleeve of his hoodie, mouth pressed into a thin line, a flush risen to his face.

 

Peter looks down at his suit, and spares a thought to wonder where he’s left his backpack this time, with all his clothes. He probably won’t be able to find it again with the memory loss and all, which is a bummer, because his favorite Star Trek t-shirt was in there, he’s pretty sure. He sighs, wondering where he’s going to find the money to go thrift shopping  _ again  _ this weekend.

 

“You look cold,” Flash blurts suddenly, pulling Peter out of his thoughts, “Take my jacket.”

 

“I don’t – I mean, my body heat stays pretty above average tempera–” Peter is interrupted by Flash’s hoodie being tossed his way, and on instinct he snatches it out of the air without really looking at it. He blinks at the soft bundle in his hands. “Uh, okay.” 

 

Flash nods in a self-satisfied kind of way. Peter boggles at him for a second before putting it on, because he can’t think of anything else to do.

\---

 

Peter picks a random street to stop in front of when the ache in his ribs gets to be a little too much. 

 

“We can stop here,” Peter says, and Flash, mid-babbling about his Materials Science class, comes to a stop. He glances around, and looks at Peter dubiously.

 

“You live in an old warehouse?” Flash says, jerking his thumb at the building over Peter’s shoulder.

 

“I live nearby,” Peter lies, and even he can hear that his voice gets a little reedier when he says it. Flash doesn’t seem to notice. “I think I’ll be fine the rest of the way. Not that I don’t appreciate your, uh, company, but…”

 

“Secret identity,” Flash nods. “Right. It’s cool.”  

 

“Yeah,” Peter says awkwardly. Man, this has been a weird day. “Well, no offense, but I hope I don’t see you anytime soon.”

 

Flash laughs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’ll try to stay out of trouble. Next time, I’ll run away from the scary octopus man.” 

 

“Good,” Peter says, smiling. He means it – even if Flash is an ass, he doesn’t want to have to save him from the clutches of death again. 

 

Peter starts to turn away, ready to swing home. Just before he can check his webshooters and hopefully figure out how to turn Karen back on, he hears Flash call out, “Hey!”

 

Peter turns around.

 

“You can take a spin in my car anytime, as long as you promise not to crash it again,” Flash winks, motioning to the spider on Peter’s chest.

 

_ Spin.  _ Like  _ spinning a web.  _ God, that’s bad.

 

Peter blinks, and the realization hits him: that was a pick-up line.  _ A pick-up line. _ About spiders. Is Flash – was that  _ flirting?  _

 

“See you around, Spider-Man!” Flash says, shooting him a douche-y  _ hang loose  _ gesture and disappearing around the corner before Peter can say anything. Peter stares after him for a second, completely bewildered by what just happened.  _ Flirting _ . No, it couldn’t be. 

 

\---

 

When Peter ducks under his window into his room, the sun is already up and casting light over New York. As he’s peeling off his suit to hide the evidence of his light night activities, his hand catches on extra fabric and he realizes he forgot to give Flash his jacket back.

 

He’s staring at the black hoodie in his hands, wondering what to do with it, when he hears a noise from down the hall. He throws it in a random direction and dives into bed, pulling up the covers just as he hears May slowly push the door open to check on him. He hears her sigh softly in relief when she catches sight of him in bed, faking sleep. The door closes, and he forgets all about the hoodie laying across his desk chair.  

 

\---   
  


On Monday, Peter is pretending to be bad at push-ups with Ned during PE when his spider-hearing catches a conversation from across the room.

 

“Dude, don’t even deny it,” someone is saying – a girl, her voice filled with held-back laughter. There are other murmuring voices around, which means there’s a whole group of people all gathered around her. “We all saw the Youtube video.  _ You _ were the damsel-in-distress, not Spider-Man.”

 

Flash’s voice, defensive and loud, cuts her off. “Well, it’s true! Afterwards – we got knocked out of the air by Doctor Dickhead – I saved his life. He was limping and shit, and I walked him home.” 

 

Peter coughs, choking on air, and sits up. What is Flash  _ doing _ ?

 

Ned spots the sudden look of indignation on Peter’s face, and whispers at him, “What? What did you hear?”

 

Peter shakes his head, holding up his hand in a  _ hold on  _ gesture. He does another terrible push-up for good measure, ignoring Ned’s eyes on him.

 

_Saved his life?_ _As_ _if_. Peter was the one who rescued Flash from the claws – or rather, tentacles – of death, not the other way around. Flash, as usual, has returned to his awful self, trying to make himself look like the hero when he obviously wasn’t. Peter focuses on sorting through the noise of the gym, straining to hear the rest of the conversation.

 

“Oh, yeah? Where does Spider-Man live, then? Maybe we can all pay him a visit,” the girl is saying, sarcasm dripping in her voice. Peter realizes that it’s MJ, suddenly recognizing the flat tone. Right now, he wants to give her a hug for cutting through Flash’s bullshit.

 

“I – “ Flash breaks off, obviously thrown by that question. “I don’t know. He didn’t exactly invite me in for a chat or anything,  _ duh.  _ He keeps his identity a secret.”

 

MJ rolls her eyes so hard that Peter can hear it across the room. “Right. So you don’t have any proof. Shocking.”

 

“I’m not lying!” Flash protests, but it’s too late. The small crowd that had gathered around him has begun to disperse. MJ rolls her eyes one last time and leaves, muttering something about fragile masculinity under her breath. 

 

Peter feels triumphant for only a moment until he hears Flash whisper, “And he still has my jacket.”

 

\---

 

Ned comes over that afternoon for a Stark Trek marathon. He throws his backpack on the floor, pulls out his computer, and is just about to start the first episode of season three when he spots the jacket hanging off Peter’s desk chair.

 

“Dude, is that Flash’s jacket?” Ned says, pointing at it. Peter looks up from where he’s fiddling with his suit’s goggles and shrugs.

 

“Yeah. He lent it to me after the fight this weekend. How did you know it was his?” Peter asks suspiciously.

 

“He wears it all the time to Decathlon practice. It’s like, the only clothing item I’ve ever seen him wear more than once.” Ned glances at Peter, picking up the black hoodie in his hands. “Why do you still have it?”

 

“Well, when he was walking me home, he thought I was cold and lent it to me. Then he forgot to ask for it back when he left.” Peter wrinkles his nose. “It was really weird, Ned. He was being  _ nice  _ to me. Sort of.” As nice as Flash can be, he guesses. Peter tries very hard not to think about the last part of their conversation, because avoiding his own trauma is kind of his thing now.

 

“Wait, so that actually happened? The thing where he said saved your life?”

 

Peter groans. “No way. He didn’t save my life. He offered to walk me home, that’s all. I just felt bad about his car and decided to humor him.” Peter flops back onto the floor, throwing his suit to the side. “I should have known he would somehow be a dick about it.”

 

“Huh,” Ned says. “Well, you did save his life twice. He might be trying to save face.”

 

Peter frowns. “So? He’s still being an ass.”

 

“Well, yeah. But for us non-superpowered people, getting rescued all the time kind of makes you feel like you’re not doing anything. He might be feeling kind of useless right now.” Ned shrugs, not looking Peter's way. “I mean, he’s not exactly known for having the smallest ego. It’s probably a little bruised.”

 

Peter opens his mouth to protest, and then stops. Maybe Ned’s right, and he shouldn’t be so bothered by this. Flash has never been the nicest guy or anything, especially when they were younger, but in the scale of Peter’s current life Flash ranks pretty low on the list of actual dangers. Besides, Flash being there really did help him out that day. It saved him a lot of confusion after the memory loss. And the walking gave his ribs a little more time to stitch themselves back together. 

 

Maybe Flash really does feel useless, after getting saved twice. Peter never really thought about it that way. He saves people all the time, but he’s not usually around to see the aftermath. 

 

“You’re probably right,” Peter admits, sighing. “Can we watch the episode now?”

 

Ned grins at him. In the middle of putting the jacket down, he pauses. Eyebrows furrowing, he leans down to sniff the jacket, and screws up his face.

 

“Ugh, why does it smell like he went dumpster diving in it?” Ned says, dropping it back on the chair like it’s burned him.

 

Peter laughs. He says, “I think that’s just his cologne, dude.”  

 

\---

 

It’s almost ten at night when Flash comes out of the supermarket with a bag of groceries in one hand and his car keys in the other. He fumbles with his keys, opens the car door, and slides into the driver’s seat. He sighs and rests his head on the steering wheel, feeling exhausted. It’s been a long day, trying to get back into the swing school after almost dying -- again -- on Sunday, trying to get the chest-constricting feeling of helplessness out of his head as he watched that Octo-guy approach him. 

 

“Hey,” Spider-Man says from the passenger seat. 

 

Flash screams. He smacks his head on the wheel, and then the back of his seat, like a pinball machine. He comes to a stop when Spider-Man grabs his shoulder and settles him back into place.

 

“Whoa,” he says, voice low, but somehow different than Flash remembers it. Younger, maybe. “Calm down, dude. It’s just me.”

 

Flash immediately flushes bright red. How does he keep ending up in these situations? Embarrassing himself in front of superheroes is apparently his new favorite hobby.

 

“I’ve almost died a few times in the last couple months,” Flash says defensively, heart still pounding loud in his chest. “You gotta give me some warning.”

 

“Sorry,” Spider-Man says. It sounds genuine. Flash realizes that Spider-Man’s hand is still on his shoulder and flushes red again.

 

“Anyway,” Flash fumbles, rubbing the back of his head. He smirks at Spider-Man, turning up the charm. “You took me up on my offer. You here to take a ride in the Flashmobile?”

 

“Uh,” Spider-Man shakes his head. “No. I’m here to return this.”

 

From somewhere (Flash isn’t sure where, since that suit is skin-tight – he’s  _ noticed, okay _ ) Spider-Man pulls out Flash’s favorite jacket, the one he lent him the day before. Flash blinks at it before taking it from him, folding the soft hoodie into his chest.

 

“Thanks,” he says, surprised. “I was looking for this.”

 

“Not a problem,” Spider-Man says awkwardly. “Anyway, I also wanted to say thanks. You really helped me out on Sunday. I might’ve panicked if you hadn’t been there to tell me what happened.” 

 

Flash can’t really imagine Spider-Man panicking, but he feels his face turn redder anyway. Spider-Man is looking right at him, the corners of his mask pulled up like he’s smiling underneath it. His eyes are bright white in the dark of the car, his suit outlined by the neon of the store sign light behind him, and Flash can’t think of anything witty to say back. His chest feels warm. The heaviness from the past day – the strange ferocious relief to be still alive after the night’s events and the all-consuming anger at his inability to pull himself out of trouble – has disappeared, and left Flash unusually speechless.

 

In the quiet, Flash watches Spider-Man fidget with his suit’s sleeve in a strangely young, nervous gesture, and finally manages to bluster out, “You’re welcome.” 

 

Spider-Man slips out of the car and shoots him one last look. 

 

“I might take you up on your offer some other time,” he says. “So don’t crash the Flashmobile before then, okay?” 

 

“Coming from the guy who crashed my previous car,” Flash says, and Spider-Man laughs, but he barely processes it.

 

Spider-Man wants to hang out with him.  _ Holy shit.  _ Maybe those google searches spent on spider-related pick-up lines didn’t go to waste.

 

Flash is still stuck on that thought as he watches Spider-Man swing away in a flash of white webbing through the dark sky.

 

\---

 

Flash wears the jacket to school the next day, which Spider-Man must’ve washed, because it smells like dryer sheets instead of rotting banana peels. He’s on his way to math class when he hears MJ’s voice behind him say, “Hey, you dropped this.”

 

He turns around to find her glowering at him, holding a piece of folded paper between her thumb and index finger. Flash frowns at it. He doesn’t remember putting anything in his pocket.

 

MJ, nosy as she is, starts to unfold it, probably to read it to find out if it’s some embarrassing secret of his. Flash swears she has blackmail on everyone in the entire school. One day he’s going to figure out what price he’ll have to pay for her to tell him one of Parker’s dirty secrets.

 

“Give that back,” Flash snaps, snatching it out of her hands. She shrugs, letting him.

 

Flash turns over the piece of paper in his hand. It’s a series of numbers. He stares at it for a moment, eyes wandering to the message underneath it.

 

 

_ If you ever get into any more trouble, call this number. I’ll be there in a Flash. Ha, get it? _

 

_ -Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man _

 

 

“What is it?” MJ asks, impatient. She seems about ready to walk away out of boredom.

 

Flash, for a moment, imagines everything he could do with Spider-Man’s phone number. For one thing, he could prove to MJ and the whole damn school that he really did help Spider-Man out that weekend. That he’s not a liar. That he’s not some helpless kid who gets pulled out of trouble like a damsel in distress. The rumors about him that have been circulating would be stomped out. Hell, if Flash just made one phone call, he would be a goddamn celebrity around school.

 

“It’s nothing,” Flash says. MJ rolls her eyes at him before the last of her patience runs out and she walks away. 

 

Flash tucks the piece of paper away into his pocket, suddenly grinning. He got Spider-Man’s  _ number _ . 

 

He is just too goddamn smooth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i... really have nothing to say other than it is impossible to find spider pick up lines online, i had to make that one up  
> i hope you enjoyed this! let us kno what you think, comments are super nice and give me life!! if u have any good spider pick up lines pls let me kno. have a lovely day!!


	5. MJ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, shit,” she hears someone curse. MJ ducks past the wall of gym lockers, heart pounding her throat, and stumbles into the changing area in front of the showers.
> 
> She’s greeted by a half-naked, bleeding, and mortified Peter Parker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the delay, you guys! it’s been a crazy busy couple of months, but my computer is no longer broken and I had some time last week, so finally here is the MJ chapter. I hope it lives up to expectations! Civilbores is on hiatus at the moment, so this is unbeta’d – if you see any errors, please let me know! It’s told from MJ’s perspective this time.  
> lucky for peter, mj can’t keep her nose out of other people’s business.

MJ has had a bad week.

She never really understood it before, but being captain of the decathlon team is a lot of _work._ Liz made it look easy, with her ever-present smile and her ability to shut everyone up with a wave of her hand. MJ cannot shut people up with a wave of her hand, or by yelling at them, or even with a _Shut up, Flash._ The only people who actually listen to her are a couple other girls on the team – along with Peter and Ned, who don’t count, because technically they’re her “friends” now. Or whatever.  

On top of week-long hectic decathlon practices, the strange empty space left by Liz, a failed Calculus test and Peter skipping Spanish _again_ today and leaving her partner-less for the conjugation worksheet (she’d forgotten what it felt like, to have no one want to be her partner. It sucks more than she remembers.) – on _top_ of all that, MJ has absolutely _no_ _idea_ what to do for her journalism project.

“Your journalism project?” Ned repeats quizzically from his side of the lunch table.

It’s a recent development, the lunch-table thing. MJ no longer sits at the conjoining table, pretending not to listen to their conversation and doodling clouds in her sketchbook. Now that they’re friends, or whatever, she sits across from them and still pretends not to listen to their conversations, just at a closer proximity. She’s been moved up a rung on the social ladder, from “weird gloomy loner” to “just one of the losers”.

Jury’s still out on how she feels about it.

MJ stabs her fork into her depressingly soggy fish sticks. “I have absolutely no ideas,” she says, despairingly. “Not one. Not even a beginning of an idea. I think I may have burned out after my last opinion piece on vaping in public restrooms.”

“Washed up at sixteen,” Ned says, shaking his head. “So sad.”

“Don’t quote Disney at me,” MJ grunts. Ned holds up his hands in mock surrender. MJ sighs. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. This project could make or break my journalism career. I’m shooting for Co-Editor of the school newspaper next year, and if I don’t ace my final project, no one’s going to vote for me.”

Ned looks up, surprised. “Do you think you’ll have time to be captain of the Decathlon team and Co-Editor next year?”

“There’s a reason I’m letting the ‘Co’ thing slide,” she points out. “I need a good project. I’m not exactly going to get votes for my charismatic personality.” 

“I think you have a great personality,” Ned grins. He probably means it, too, the dork. “And I’m sure your project is going to be great, MJ, so don’t worry about it. Peter would say the same thing.”

MJ glances at the empty space next to Ned, her eyes narrowing. The other half of their dynamic duo is still missing. It’s almost halfway through lunch – Peter should be here by now. Skipping Spanish is one thing, but skipping lunch, too? Peter never skips meals.

“Speaking of Parker,” she says suspiciously. “Where is he?”

Ned’s eyes immediately shift to the side, his posture straightening. “I’m – I’m not sure. Probably sick, or something. You know how he is.” Ned laughs, nervously, which isn’t that unusual because he’s a nervous kid, but MJ’s known him long enough by now to know that something is off.

And MJ _does_ know how Peter is. Skipping class, mysterious absences, randomly leaving right in the middle of the day and reappearing just a few hours later – she knows Peter’s habits. But what she can’t figure out it is _why._

She pushes that thought and Ned’s weird behavior to the back of her mind. She doesn’t have time to worry about Peter Parker right now – she has work to do.

 

\---

 

MJ is curled up on the couch, eating a Lean Cuisine and doing her math homework in front of the TV, when she sees a headline in big red letters appear at the bottom of the screen. _Spider-Man Takes Down Arsonists Near Midtown High School._

She bolts upright in her seat. Her blood runs ice cold, panic looming until she hears the news anchor say soberly that there were only two people wounded, neither of whom were students. At that MJ breathes a long sigh of relief.

She watches, mesmerized, as grainy footage of Spider-Man slinging webs at two black-clad, armed men begins to play. There’s a flash of red and police lights dancing across the TV screen. In the footage, Spider-Man pulls a woman running from the fire into the air, to set her gently down by a police car before disappearing into the night sky.

“It’s just awful, isn’t it?” MJ hears her mom say behind her. “Thank goodness that Spider-Man was there before anyone else really got hurt.”

“Yeah,” MJ says absently. But all she can think is: _There’s an idea._

 

\---

 

The next day, MJ corners Peter in the hallway after homeroom.

“So, tell me about Spider-Man,” she says.

“What?” Peter squeaks, his hands tightening around his backpack straps in a white-knuckled grip. His voice jumps even higher than his normal register. MJ would think it was cute if she wasn’t feeling so jittery with impatience.

“I don’t know why you never mention it,” MJ continues, and all the color drains from Peter’s face. “I mean, it’s pretty cool. And it explains a lot.”

Peter stares at her with eyes as wide as saucers. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. MJ wonders if this is a touchy subject – she’s always accidentally stepping into those.

 “You think it’s – wait, it does?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I mean, if I was friends with a guy like Spider-Man, I’d be skipping Spanish all the time, too.”

At that, Peter’s face does a strange twisting thing, and then relaxes into a relieved quirk of the mouth. His shoulders drop from his ears back down to their normal height. _Huh._ Before MJ can say anything, Peter shrugs.  

“I didn’t think anyone believed me about that,” he says, his tone purposefully light, self-depreciating. MJ remembers Ned’s blurted confession in PE, the way that Peter’s face had gone both pale and proud and then eventually panicked when everyone had turned to look at them. If people didn’t believe him about his Stark Internship, they _really_ couldn’t fathom a friendship with the local hero, especially after Flash laughed it off and made sure everyone knew _Penis Parker, attention whore extraordinaire._ After that, it sort of fell out of people’s minds.

 But MJ has been paying attention. Especially now that they’re friends. Or whatever.

“I believe you,” she says reassuringly. Some color returns to Peter’s face, and he gives her a pleased grin, a dorky one with lots of teeth.

“Uh, well, I’m not supposed to really talk about it,” he says quickly. He runs a nervous hand through his hair. “You know, secret identity. He’d, uh, want me to keep it under wraps. And I don’t see him that often, really.”

MJ nods at that. It makes sense. “Did you see him yesterday? Is that why you were gone?” 

Peter pauses. “Yeah,” he says slowly. He narrows his eyes at her, because Peter Parker may be a bit of a dweeb, but he’s not an idiot. “Why are you asking me about this, MJ?”

 _Shit_. Already caught. MJ has never been very good at this subtlety business – she’s better at persuading people in writing than in person. She sighs.

“Ned told you about the journalism project?” It’s less of a question than a statement, really, because those two tell each other everything.

When Peter nods warily, she says, “I want to interview Spider-Man about the arson threat yesterday.” That’s what everyone’s been calling it – the arson threat. As if a building across from the school didn’t actually catch fire yesterday.

Peter gapes. “What – no! I – he would never agree to that. I mean, he’s never given an interview. To anyone. Ever.”  

“Until now,” MJ says brightly. She puts a hand on his shoulder. He looks nervous, so she smiles at him. That doesn’t seem to help. “You’re going to be my ticket to the top, Parker. I’ll be sure to thank you in my acceptance speech.”

Surprisingly, Peter doesn’t nod or agree or laugh, or even stutter out a _you’ve got to be kidding, MJ_. His face turns from nervous to hard and stern in a second flat. He jerks his shoulder out from under her hand.

MJ, surprised, pulls her hand back. 

“This isn’t something to joke about, MJ,” Peter says quietly. There’s a deep furrow between his brows. He’s not looking at her, but at the floor, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He looks tired, and as close to angry as MJ has ever seen him.

 _Whoa._ MJ takes a step back. A tide of confusion washes over her and wipes away her previous jittery excitement. Now that she’s really looking, Peter looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and mussed, unwashed hair. She feels an unreasonable irritation prickle at the back of her mind – who does Spider-Man think he is, pulling Peter out of school, and in the middle of night, making him look this exhausted?

“I don’t mean it as a joke,” she says, a little softer. “I’m just chasing a story here, Parker. I mean, an interview with New York’s local hero could take some of the mystery of the whole vigilantism thing away. Ease some people’s minds.”

She knows that everyone feels it. In a society where superheroes can be and often are more effective than the police, but are far more unreliable –  in a world where vigilantism is commonplace and people are born with powers beyond incredible every day, it’s hard not to feel scared of what you don’t know. And after all that world-ending alien-bullshit, and Captain America turning from a symbol of peace to war-criminal, everyone’s mind could use a little easing, these days. Maybe Peter understands that better than anyone, since he’s friends with a superhero.

Peter bites his lip. 

“I’ll think about it,” he says.

MJ smiles. That’s good enough for her.

 

\---

 

Decathlon practice is just as hectic as usual. They have regionals coming up, against a rival team that they lost to in the last competition – although that isn’t saying much, since they lost to almost _every_ team in their last competition, still shaken and disorganized after Liz’s sudden departure. MJ is proud to say that she thinks she might be starting to get them back on track just in time for the competition, after a month of proving her worth as a leader and running memorization drills with the severity of a drill sergeant. Even Flash seems to have a tacit respect for her, now. At least most of the time.

If only Peter would show up to practice.

His absence is weird. It makes Flash strangely quiet, without his usual verbal punching bag, and Ned keeps glancing at his phone nervously, sending frantic texts every ten minutes. It drags the team down, Ned’s quiet panic and Flash’s gloom and the lack of Peter Parker and even MJ finds herself growing irritable. In the back of her mind, all she can think about is Spider-Man putting dorky, awkward, soft-hearted Peter in the middle of a crime scene.  

Just as MJ is gearing up to whip everyone into shape, Peter bursts through the doors of the practice room. He’s out of breath, disheveled, and his shirt is only three-quarters of the way buttoned. He stumbles into the room like he’s being chased inside. The door slams shut behind him. Everyone’s heads turn.

MJ glances at Ned, who releases a breath like he’s been holding it through the entire practice. Relief washes over his face. Narrowing her eyes, she turns back to Peter, who’s turning red under everyone’s gazes.

“Let’s hear your excuse, Parker,” MJ says, voice like steel, because even though Peter’s her friend, or whatever, she’s not going to lose face in front of the team. She’s got a reputation to keep up, now.

“Uh,” Peter starts, his eyes flicking to Ned like he’s pleading for help. Out of the corner of her eye MJ sees Ned shrug in a way that means _you’re on your own for this one, buddy._

Peter gulps. “My – friend had an emergency,” he stutters out. He makes meaningful eye contact with MJ.

She knows what that look means, now. _Spider-Man._ MJ frowns. Missing Spanish and lunch, late-night calls, and now late to Decathlon practice? MJ hasn’t even seen Spider-Man on the news recently, other than the arson threat last week. Peter hasn’t missed this much school in a while. So what the hell is going on?

Mr. Harrington, from his position in the back of the room, stands up. “Everything alright now?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Peter says. He shoots him an apologetic grin. “Sorry I’m late, Mr. Harrington.”    

“Make it up to us by answering the next question right,” MJ says as Peter settles into his usual spot next to Ned, who slings an arm around his shoulders. “Who introduced the theory of punctuated equilibrium?”

 

\---

Mrs. Starnes, MJ’s journalism teacher, looks up from the assignment paper. She quirks an eyebrow at MJ.

“It’s a work in progress,” MJ says quickly. “I haven’t actually gotten the interview, yet.”   

Mrs. Starnes’ eyes drop back down to MJ’s rough draft, skim over the headline, and then climb back up to her.

“It’s certainly ambitious,” she says after a moment.

MJ grins. “That’s the idea.”

“I hope you’re not putting yourself in any danger for this assignment, Michelle,” Mrs. Starnes says sternly. “Spider-Man may have done a lot of good for this community, but he’s also made mistakes, and nobody truly knows who he is. Anyone could be under that mask.”

“Cautious is my middle name,” MJ assures her. It’s Mary, actually, but that’s beside the point. “Don’t worry. We have a mutual friend.”

Mrs. Starnes’ dark eyebrow only climbs higher, but she doesn’t say anymore. Maybe’s she’s gotten used to MJ’s cryptic, short-lipped responses. She takes the paper and moves on to the next student, marking something down on her clipboard.

MJ turns back to her computer, and stares at the open Word document in front of her, her stomach clenched with excitement.

It’s time to get serious.

 

\---

 

It really is an accident that on Thursday, MJ stumbles into a phone conversation she definitely wasn’t supposed to hear.

“You can’t keep this up,” Ned is whispering fervently into his phone. He’s standing out of sight, tucked away into the nook of hallway near the entrance to the boy’s bathroom. The hallway is utterly empty, and his voice bounces off the walls despite his attempts to be quiet. MJ pauses on her way to drop off some practice notes for Mr. Harringon. She strains her ears. Ned shouldn’t be here today – there’s no practice – and neither should Peter.

Ned’s voice echoes around the hall, growing in volume. “I _know_ you just want to see it through, but this is Avengers-level shit. It’s getting intense, even for you. I’m just really worried.”

A pause. “You say that, but I don’t think it’s under control.” Another pause. “Don’t hang up, Pete, I’m serious. I _know_ I’m not your babysitter – shit!”

MJ freezes, thinking that she’s been caught eavesdropping, but she hears Ned make another frustrated noise, and then the familiar click of the call ending. A deep sigh echoes from the corner.

“Idiot,” she hears Ned mutter under his breath. “Explosions are not a good enough reason for hanging up on your best friend.”

Goddamn. Whatever is going on with Peter is no joke – it’s enough to make Ned mad. MJ has never really heard him this frustrated before, especially not with Peter. She’s never seen them fight about anything.

Another sigh, and then there are footsteps. MJ tries to make herself act natural, wiping the panicked look off her face and replacing it with her usual stone-cold expression. She prays that Ned will turn the other direction, towards the opposite end of the hall.

No luck.

“MJ?” she hears. She winces internally. When she looks up, Ned is looking at her with guilty eyes, like he’s the one that been caught, not her. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to run over some new memorization strategies with Mr. Harringon,” she says. _Or at least I was, until I found something more interesting_. “What about you?”

“Uh,” Ned stutters. “Robotics meeting?” He says it like a question instead of an answer. A thin layer of sweat is forming at his forehead, MJ notices.

 _Such a bad liar,_ MJ thinks to herself. “I thought Robotics met on Wednesdays,” she says pleasantly. “I didn’t realize they met on Thursdays in the language building.”

Ned swallows, his guilty look deepening. Before he can make up another excuse, MJ interrupts him.

“Whatever you were talking about sounded pretty intense,” she says bluntly. “Was it about Spider-Man?”

Ned’s eyes get wide, and then he glances behind her, as if checking to be sure they’re the only ones in the hallway. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again.

“I- I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ned says quickly.

MJ rolls her eyes. Why are he and Peter so bad at secret-keeping? “Ned, I already know about the Spider-Man thing.”

A disbelieving pause. Ned inexplicably stares at her in confusion, eyebrows furrowed, mouth parted in surprised. “He told you?” he says, slowly.

“Not in so many words, but he’s about as good at lying as you are, so I got the picture.” MJ spares a moment to feel hurt – she knows that she hasn’t known for them for _that_ long, but the fact they’re so stubbornly trying to keep her in the dark about all this rubs her the wrong way – before shoving it down to focus on her objective.

“I know something is going on, Ned,” MJ says, straightforward. Ned’s eyebrows furrow deeper and he turns his gaze to the floor. “And I know Spider-Man’s been around, because Peter’s being weirder than usual. He’s been missing a lot of school, and I’m not an idiot.”

Originally, maybe, it had just been about the story. Maybe it had even been about the arson threat, wanting to meet the vigilante that kept her school from going up in flames. But now it’s more than that – she wants to know why Peter’s been absent so much, why Spider-Man thinks Peter Parker is the one to drag all over New York in pursuit of crime, why it’s causing a rift between him and Ned. Mostly, she sort of wants to tell Spider-Man to his stupid face that dragging a high-school kid into his mess isn’t the way a fucking _hero_ should be acting.   

“If this shit keeps happening, I’m going to rip him a new one myself, interview or not,” MJ says, her voice deadly and even. It comes out sounding less like a threat and more like a promise.

Ned nods mutely, so MJ turns on her heel and walks away.

 

\---

 

It’s really unfair that MJ has to stay late after school on a _Friday._ But they have regionals starting on Sunday, and staying late to prepare for competitions is just another captain thing she’s going to have to get used to.

It’s not until nearly 5:30 that Mr. Harringon finally decides they’ve finished debriefing for Sunday and she can leave to go catch a bus home. MJ clutches her jacket close to her chest, clenching her teeth against the bitter afternoon chill. She sticks her hands in her pockets to warm them up. Oddly enough, there’s plenty of space for her hands, which is weird because usually her left pocket is where she puts her –

Her wallet, which _isn’t there._

“Shit,” she curses under her breath, suddenly frantic. She digs around her pockets – front, back, jacket, jeans, nothing. She checks her backpack, parsing through folders and textbooks, and comes up empty.

 She remembers taking it out of her pocket to pay for a soda in the vending machine during lunch, but she definitely remembers putting in the pocket of her jeans after that. Jeans, which she took off to change for PE, which means she definitely left her wallet in the locker room. Her wallet, with her bus card, and any cash she could use to pay for the bus ride home. Which means she’s going to miss it entirely.

“Of course,” MJ mutters to herself, “I really needed one more thing to go wrong this week. Thanks, universe.” She flips off the sky, which stares blankly back at her, blank and slate-grey.

MJ feels some relief, however, as she traipses down the hall to the gym. She hates taking the bus. It’s cramped and noisy and smells gross, and since she spends the majority of her time around teenage boys, now, she wants to expose herself to smelliness for the least amount of time possible in a day. 

Speaking of smelly teenagers. Her nose crinkles when she throws open the door to the gym, the aroma of sweat and sneaker-rubber filling her senses. She picks up her pace, hoping to grab her phone and get out as fast as possible. 

By the time she reaches the girl’s locker room, her mind is already somewhere else. She’s thinking of calling her mom to ask for a ride, how mad her mom is going to be about it and how quickly she’ll get over it. She’s already crafting a rant to her mom about how awful this day has been in her head when she reaches the door of the girl’s locker room.

She’s about the push the door open when she suddenly hears a voice on the other side of the door.

MJ freezes in her tracks. She stops, and listens. Normally, someone being in the girl’s locker room after school wouldn’t surprise her – she’s walked in on a couple people smoking behind the wall of lockers where they think they won’t get caught. Or it’s possible someone left something in their locker, just like she did.

But this voice makes her pause. It’s – well, it sounds like a student, but it also sounds distinctly _male._ MJ isn’t one to make assumptions, but it’s not just that that stops her.

The voice sounds distinctly _familiar._

MJ pushes the door open.

“Oh, shit,” she hears someone curse. MJ ducks past the wall of lockers, heart pounding her throat, and stumbles into the changing area in front of the showers.

She’s greeted by a half-naked, bleeding, and mortified Peter Parker.

 

\---

 

“I can explain,” are the first words out of Peter’s mouth when MJ finds him in nothing but his Black Widow boxers, red spandex tangled around his legs on the ground. There’s an open first aid kit on the bathroom sink. A mask is lying on the floor in plain sight.

Spider-Man’s white eyes burn into her from the floor.

MJ’s eyes flick from the mask to the long gash etched into Peter’s torso, stretching from his side to his hipbone. The wound is dark and deep, singed around the edges and crimson. MJ bites her tongue just to keep a startled gasp from escaping. 

“Please don’t freak out,” Peter says, a note of panic in his voice.

MJ looks up at the ceiling and wonders what she did to deserve this. Peter Parker might be the death of her.

“How can you expect me not to freak out when you’re bleeding out on school property?” MJ yells, exasperated, panicked.

Peter gives her a wide-eyed look. His eyes flick to the mask on the floor, then back to her, then back to the mask. He opens his mouth to say something, probably something stupid like _this isn’t what it looks like._

“Oh my God,” MJ breathes, the reality of the situation dawning on her. Peter, the absences, the exhaustion, Ned’s panic, the _suit_. “You’re Spider-Man.”

“MJ- “

“I’m such an idiot,” she says, the pieces connecting in her head. “The Stark Internship isn’t really an internship, is it? _You_ were the one who saved those people from those arsonists? Ned already knows, doesn’t he? And, oh my God, Homecoming night, and Liz’s dad – “

“MJ!” Peter shouts. MJ blinks and realizes he’s suddenly very close to her face, eyes searching hers frantically. His suit is pulled back up over his shoulders, suddenly conforming to his body shape, and MJ knows that now isn’t the time but she never realized before how _built_ he is. And, God, she can see the rip in the suit where he was wounded, bloodstained and tattered. His hand wraps tightly around her wrist, pulling on it frantically. “We don’t have time for this. We need to go. _Now.”_

 “Go where?” MJ says –

\--and then an explosion goes off.

The sound is so loud it leaves static in her ears. Peter’s hand pulls her sharply to the side before MJ can react. Adrenaline spikes through her veins, quick and cold, like when she saw the headline on TV but so much worse. She blindly fumbles and follows Peter as he lurches forward and begins to run.

“What the fuck is going on?” she yells as they shove through the doors outside the locker room. Somewhere, behind her, in front of her, she doesn’t know, she can hear whirring, the click of foreign machinery unlike anything she’s ever heard. Her heart slams against her ribcage.  

“The arsonists are really good at their jobs,” Peter shouts back.

MJ can’t believe that this is same Peter, voice grave but still even despite the sound of another explosion going off behind them. His eyes are focused, and MJ watches as he pulls the mask over his head – he moved so fast, she never saw him pick it up off the floor.

Blood rushing in her ears, MJ races after Peter into the East Gym, flying through the double doors at an impossible speed. She’s breathing hard when Peter – Spider-Man – comes to a stop so suddenly that MJ nearly slams right into him.

“Why are we stopping?” MJ asks frantically, glancing towards the gym’s doors. Peter spins around, eyes scanning the walls. The sound of thudding footsteps gets steadily closer, carrying with it a smell that overpowers the scent of the gym, one like burnt hair and smoke and gasoline.

Peter mumbles to himself, “Three exits, no windows,” before spinning around and grabbing MJ by the shoulders. 

“MJ, you have to get out of here,” he says. “Karen says he’ll be here in thirty seconds. You need to _run.”_

“Who the hell is Karen?” MJ says, incredulous, and then decides that now is not the time to ask questions. “Peter, _no._ You’re already injured – I’m not just going to leave you here, super-skills or not!”

“I can’t argue with you right now!” Peter says, and _that_ sounds more like the Peter she knows, an edge of a desperate whine to his voice. “You need to go!”

Everything in MJ’s body wants to agree with him, to bolt out the door and leave it up to someone with actual super-strength and a track record for impossible feats of heroics. But MJ can also clearly see the burn slicing through his side, still dark-red and oozing, a technicolor reminder of Peter’s mortality, and she _knows_ Peter Parker. This will either end with whatever’s chasing him wrapped up like a present for the NYPD, or with Spider-Man burnt to a crisp on gym floor. And she’s not about to let that second option happen.

“Ned said that you’re in way over your head!” MJ snaps, suddenly pissed. “I’m not going to leave you here to _die,_ asshole.”

Peter starts to protest, “ _MJ_ –” 

The gym fills with the noise of another explosion. A cloud of smoke erupts into the air, followed by blazing heat that makes the space around them immediately a few degrees hotter and a whole lot more claustrophobic. Peter yanks MJ to the ground on instinct, which sends them both sprawling flat on the floor.

Through the fumes, a figure emerges, dressed in a tight, mechanical orange-red suit that whirs and clicks as it moves. Its’ movements are unnatural, slow but powerful enough that its footsteps seem to crash in MJ’s ears. Strangely enough, laughter filters in through the whir of strange machinery. Whoever is in that suit seems to be _enjoying_ themselves as they stomp across the floor of the gym.

 “What is it about New York that brings all the crazies?” MJ mutters under her breath, glancing at Peter.

 Peter is frozen in a crouched position, every muscle in his body tensed like a wire about to snap. His eyes are closed. MJ remembers the Spider-Man fan forums she scoured in preparation for her journalism project, and recalls the theory that Spider-Man has a sense for danger that lets him know when the next shot is coming. She watches Peter and hopes that’s what’s going on and that he’s not just praying for their lives.

Peter’s eyes snap open so suddenly that MJ jumps. “It’s just him,” Peter says, sounding relieved, before his face twists into a grimace. “Judging by how heavy his footsteps are, he’s got enough tech strapped to him to blow up the entire school, though.”

“Wonderful,” MJ says dryly, but feels the beginning of panic starting to climb up her throat. “You said three exits, earlier. What’s our plan?”   

Peter turns his white eyes to her, and jerks a thumb behind him. “ _Your_ plan is to run out those doors as quickly as possible.”

MJ makes an incredulous sound. “Well, I hate that plan.”

“I have this under _control_ –”

“Clearly you don’t, because half the gym is on fire right now!” MJ snaps, and immediately regrets it when she sees the guilt flicker across Peter’s face, running deep enough that it’s visible even through the mask. This is clearly a sore spot that she’s stepped right smack in the middle of. MJ coughs through the smoke that’s only thickening around them.

Before MJ can say anything else or apologize, another explosion goes off. Peter jerks, wraps his arms around both of them and rolls them away before the blast of heat reaches them. The explosion is strong enough that MJ can smell burning hair and knows it is hers. MJ’s elbow smacks the floor of the gym hard, sending a bolt of fire up her arm. Peter inhales sharply, and MJ knows that maneuver must have abused his already wounded side.

MJ blinks away dust and light spots and realizes with a start that Peter is standing, gingerly getting to his feet. She watches in slow motion as he outstretches his arm in that familiar motion she’s seen on TV, curling his fingers, but before her shout can leave her throat, a shot of webbing flies through the air and then Peter’s gone with it. A blur of red and blue, the sound of machinery shifting away from MJ and toward Spider-Man, soaring towards the ceiling. Whoever’s in that machine isn’t here for her: it’s here for Peter. MJ is left standing, alone, on the ground.

“Shit!” MJ curses, and she hears Peter yell something back that sounds a lot like _Get out of here, MJ._ She watches in mute horror as the mechanical man bursts into the air with him, flames propelling him forward to follow Spider-Man’s movements.

 _As soon as you get back down here, I’m going to strangle you, Parker,_ she thinks viciously to herself, and takes off towards the double doors.

 

\---

 

There’s not a lot of thought in Peter’s head, now. He’s in the air, weightless, flying, inhaling smoke and exhaling pained gasps. He thinks one of his ribs might be broken, the other side of his torso burned and cut open. The guy in the orange suit that’s following him into the air is the same one that’s been following Peter for weeks, the same one that he and Ned got into a fight over yesterday – the same one that Ned seems to think is going to kill Peter if he’s not careful enough.

Now, Peter thinks to himself, MJ and Ned were probably right. Why does he never notice when he’s about to cooked until he’s right in the middle of the pot?

 _The cooking metaphor is a little too literal right now_ , Peter thinks as he hastily dodges another shot of blazing fire, which tears past him and through the gym ceiling, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. Muscles straining, burned side aching, Peter slings another web and keeps moving, because it’ll only be worse if he stops. He doesn’t bother trying to shoot webs backwards at his pursuer, knowing full well how well that went the first time – it just ended with the burn in his side and his webs melted away by a blast of fire. Rock beats paper, paper beats rock, molten flames beat spider-webbing.

Karen is listing increasingly depressing figures in his ear as seconds that feel like minutes go by. _A minute and twenty-eight seconds until your strength gives out,_ she says. _At the current pace, eight minutes until the gym’s roof collapses._ He wants to tell Karen to be quiet and let him think for a second, but he’s saving the breath he has left in delaying this guy as long as possible.

The Scorcher follows him in the air, shouting taunts and profanities, maintaining his pace while Peter gradually begins to slow out of pure exhaustion. Peter really isn’t sure how he’s going to get himself out of this one. 

 _Wish I could’ve said goodbye to Aunt May_ , Peter thinks.

Peter looks down to be sure that at least MJ got out safe – and he realizes she’s _still there._

MJ is poised near the bleachers, her back to the wall. Her hair hangs in strangled wisps in front of her eyes, chest heaving with exertion, eyes blazing as she stares up at them. Peter spots broken glass on the floor, and sees the heavy red object held in one hand, her other hand gripping something in the wall.

MJ lifts the fire extinguisher in front of her defensively, and then yanks down on the fire alarm.

 

\---

 

Immediately the room fills with the screeching sound of the alarm going off. In the next instant, the sprinklers burst to life, ice-cold water spraying in every direction, drenching MJ almost instantly. The smoke suddenly starts to disperse under the spray.

The man in the mechanical suit pauses in his rampage. The flames keeping him in the air splutter and cough like a dying engine, like a candle in the wind. He struggles to keep himself upright and starts to sink downwards.

MJ breathes a sigh of relief that the chase has finally ended. But that relief quickly morphs into terror when the man in the suit turns in her direction.

Heart pounding in her throat, MJ watches as the man slowly makes his way towards her, descending quickly from the sky until he lands just a few feet away. From this close, MJ can feel the heat radiating off of him, like what she imagines getting too close to the sun is like; he looms over her and the smell of gasoline and burning fills her nose and mouth, suffocating. Instinctively she takes a step back, but there’s nowhere to run – her back presses against the wall.

“They didn’t tell me about a little girl,” the man sneers, and MJ is almost surprised that his voice comes out sounding like a normal person’s, if not a little tinny from speaking through the mask. “Where the hell did you come from?”

“Get away from her,” Peter warns. MJ’s eyes flick to him as he lands nearby, not too close but within webbing distance. He’s barely upright, and MJ can see how hard he’s working to keep himself standing.

“No need to get testy, Spidey,” the man growls. “I’ll deal with her _after_ I deal with you.” The man starts to move, lifting his arm to release another blast of fire, turning his head to look at Peter.

Peter falls into a defensive crouch, and MJ thinks: _Screw this._

MJ lifts the fire extinguisher up, up, up, and brings it down on the man’s head.

The first thing MJ feels is vicious relief as the man releases a shout of pain, mask collapsing under the weight of the blow, as he begins to fall backwards. The resulting explosion is more than she expects. MJ is knocked backwards and feels white-hot pain flare through every inch of skin, every bone in her body, a ringing sound bursting in her ears. She falls back, gravity pulling her towards the ground, her stomach lurching as she braces for impact –

 

\---

 

\--Peter pulls MJ from the air just before she lands on the hard gym floor. Her arms reach up to grip hard his shoulders, steadying herself – his ribs ache under the strain of keeping her up, but it’s worth it, because she’s _alive,_ they both are, and the man that has been chasing Peter for weeks has gone limp and sprawled on the floor from the blow to his head.

MJ snaps her eyes open. She winces at the light, the smell of the fumes left behind by the fire extinguisher. Blearily she looks around, wipes water out of her eyes – when her gaze falls on the Scorcher on the ground, her eyes widen.

Too loud, she asks, “Is he dead?” 

Peter yanks his mask over his head so he can breathe easier.  His senses are all on high alert, and he can hear the man’s heartbeat from here, can feel his danger sense, quiet but still buzzing faintly, to let him know the man’s alive. But he’s out cold, unmoving.

Peter shakes his head. “He’s alive. But he won’t be up again for little while.”

A huge grin spreads across MJ’s face. At the same time, her knees give out; Peter sinks down onto the gym floor with her. The adrenaline is fading, leaving behind a relief so intense that it almost knocks the breath out of him. _We’re alive, we’re alive, we’re alive._

“Thank you,” Peter tells MJ, quiet and sincere. “Thank you. Without you here, I –”

“Shut up,” she interrupts. “I don’t have enough energy to yell at you right now. I wasn’t about to let you get yourself killed.” There’s a pause, and then MJ says softly, “Isn’t this what friends do? I mean, we are friends, aren’t we?”

Peter’s chest hurts, and it’s not just because of his ribs. He smiles.

“You just saved my life,” Peter says. “I think you get promoted to best friend for that, usually. I don’t think Ned will mind sharing the position.”

MJ’s grin is so wide that Peter can’t help but grin back. They sit like that, for a moment, savoring each breath in their lungs, each heartbeat. Peter knows they’ll have to move, soon – with his spider-senses on alert he can hear police sirens coming down the block, trucks coming to respond to the fire alarm – but for a while they both sit there, silent.

Eventually, MJ turns, her grin turning into a sly smile.

“So,” she declares, “I think you owe me one favor.” 

 

\---

 

_Getting Friendly with Queens’ Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man: An Exclusive Interview_

_Written by Michelle Jones_

_The last month has been a tumultuous one for Midtown High students, after the arson threat and the events that took place earlier this week that ended in serious damage to the East Gym. This led to the apprehension of Jamal Hudak, the man responsible for both incidents, aptly named ‘The Scorcher’ by the media for his use of advanced explosive technology and his links to several arson-related crimes in the Tri-State area._

_Both events at Midtown high were intercepted by Spider-Man, the up-and-coming local hero who has worked alongside the Avengers and aided in the Vulture’s arrest earlier this year. Despite his tight schedule and secret identity, he agreed to answer a few questions in an anonymous one-on-one interview with the Midtown Reporter._

_“Midtown High School has been the site of several incidents in the last year that I have been a part of,” Spider-Man said during the private interview. “I just want to ease some people’s minds that I’m acting in the best interest of the community.”_

_When asked about why he keeps a secret identity instead of taking credit for his heroics, Spider-Man laughed. “It’s not really about credit,” he stated. “The reason I wear the mask is to keep the people I care about safe. I’m not really that big of a mystery,” he joked. “I just want to keep people from getting hurt.”_

_While his actions have undoubtedly saved the lives of many, Spider-Man is still considered a vigilante in the eyes of the NYPD and the public. Spider-Man seems unbothered by the label. “Yeah, it can make it hard sometimes, since I can’t always work alongside the police because of it,” he admits. “But it’s worth it. It assures the safety of those closest to me, and that’s what matters.”_

_“All I want to do is keep the people of New York safe,” Spider-Man continued. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I know I can’t do it alone. There are a lot of great people supporting me, like the Avengers, Iron Man, and my friends. We live in a crazy world, but its important to know there are good people in it, people who want to make change. That’s why I do what I do – to keep those people safe.”_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate chapter title: mj learns that the real journalism project was the friends we made along the way
> 
> thank you guys so much for your patience with this chapter! i hope you enjoyed it!! comments really make my day, so please leave one if you feel inclined - thanks for sticking with us on this adventure <3


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